


And All The Things I Don’t Talk About

by murg



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst and Humor, Daydreaming, Denial of Feelings, Fantasizing, Jealousy, Loneliness, Love Across The Universe: Dangan Salmon Team, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Suggestive Themes, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues, Unreliable Narrator, kokichi is a hypocrite what's new, phantom thief AU daydreams, sorry if it sucks lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murg/pseuds/murg
Summary: Ouma isn't lonely. So maybe he has insanely cringey fantasies involving a certain boy detective, but those aren't a symptom of loneliness. He has thousands oftotally realfriends waiting for him just outside of this Hell Dome they're currently encased in, thank you very much. He's just...bored. Boredom makes people want all sorts of crazy things.





	1. embarrassing.

“Just one _teensy_ request, Iruma.”

“A favor,” she says flatly. “No. Not for you.”

I pout, eying the latest catastrophe on her worktable. Some weird robot parts. Probably a sex thing, knowing Iruma. Super ew to the max. I feel violated, just having to be in the same room as it.

“Just a tiny, super simple invention.” I wave my blueprint in the air, paper crinkling. “So easy, even for pea-brained Iruma.”

She doesn’t even look up. “No.”

“Hey, it’s not just for me. Or maybe it is? Mm. Guess you’ll have to find out.”

“No thanks. I’m not the detective, around here.”

I flop over her table. She shoots me a dirty look, before turning back to her weird sexbot project. “I’m so _booored,_ Iruma! Come on. And I need to impress the smarty-pants around here. Might be useful for some investigative work. I’ll charge per use, and make tons of money that I can blow on the slots. Then I won’t be bored, anymore. Maybe I’ll be nicer to everyone, when I’m not so bored. Who can say? Does it matter? I’m asking you make this for me, and you better do it, or I’ll sic a thousand of my loyal followers on you. The results will not be pleasant for you. Not the gangbang of your dreams, I guarantee.”

Iruma gives a noncommittal grunt. “Why try to impress him? You never even talk to him.”

“Talk to who?”

She gives me a dead look. “The ‘smarty-pants’ investigator. Saihara. Super High School Level Emo Extraordinaire. Kind of funny that you can’t talk to someone who’s so withdrawn that I think he’d rather die of an embolism than fart in public.”

“Ah,” I say, smile slipping down my face like melted butter. “You’re being a super big asshole, right now. Must be because your ass is so stretched out from furry dildos.”

“Oh, save it, cocklet.” She eyes me, teeth unfurling. “It’s obvious to anyone with two braincells to rub together. You don’t pick on Saihara, hardly ever. While there are obvious things to pick on! Even _Momota_ makes fun of him, sometimes, and they’re soul-brothers or some other gay shit.“

“Okay, okay, whatever. So he’s cringey. Duh. I know. You done yet? You going to make me my super special machine?”

She points at me with a Philips screwdriver. “You almost never talk to him, or pester him, or anything. But you’re always mooning at him with big eyes, like some drunk owl.”

“Not always!” I say. “...Only when I think no one is looking.”

“Ugh.”

“That was a lie! I never look at Saihara’s stinky, sweaty face. He has pink hair, right?”

“You’re insufferable,” she says dryly.

“Sure am! I’m absolutely obnoxious, aren’t I?”

“Ugh.”

I frown, narrowing my eyes. This would be a good moment for a close-up, if there are cameras on us. Two of the same grunts in a row, that wouldn’t be good for airtime, if we did have cameras on us. Annoying. “You’re boring, Iruma, you know that? Completely predictable.”

She arches an eyebrow. “So? Is that supposed to be an insult, coming from you?”

Only the worst insult I can think of, considering our circumstances. I know what people do with toys that aren’t entertaining anymore. “Mm, maaaybe,” I say, threading my fingers behind my head. “Or maybe I’m just offering you my sincerest condolences. --Oh, sorry. ‘Condolences’ is kind of a big word. It means that I feel sorry for you, because you’re so ugly and stupid.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll make you a bet.”

I blink. “Uh oh! Iruma’s turning into the Ultimate Gambler.”

“I’ll look at whatever stupid schematic you’ve cooked up this time, if you actually--and I mean, _actually_ \--sit next to Saihara tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Next to Saihara?” I snort. “Easy money. So simple! Facile! Einfach! Some other word for e-a-s-y.”

“I’ll flank Akamatsu with Kiibo, so it’ll be double-easy.” She smirks at me.

“Ha, this is so uncharacteristically kind of you, Iruma!” I coo. “I didn’t realize you were rooting for me.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she says. She wipes her face, leaving a gross grease stain on her jaw. She thinks she’s a hot babe? Please. Even I can tell that she is on the y-i-k-e-s tier of female attractiveness. Tits aren’t everything. “You’re going to sit next to him, and you’re going to say something super fucking annoying, because you can’t help yourself, and then Saihara will want even less to do with you.”

“Tch.” I roll my eyes. Iruma is such a bitch. She’s also potentially correct. It’s a possibility. Maybe a strong one. I’m not a betting man, but the chance of me saying something that will upset Saihara is about 1:1. Conservative estimates, here.

But I really need Iruma to make this. It’s important. If we’re going to get out of here, or at least get any closer to some answers, she’s got to cooperate with me. And it hurts, but that’s way more important than preventing Saihara from hating me. It’s more important than preventing all of them from hating me. Hell, it’ll probably just be easier if they do hate me. That way, less people get hurt.

I’m pretty much positive people are watching us. And they’d love it if we got hurt. But nope, sorry, voyeurs at home, Ouma Kokichi is going to spit in your mouths and call your moms whores. Ouma Kokichi’s going to win this one for the home team. And he doesn’t care who he has to step on or who he has to hurt, to do it.

“Uh, challenge totally accepted, you dumb skank,” I say, sticking my tongue out at shitty, awful Iruma. “I’ll blow Saihara away with my gentlemanly charm!” And then he’ll avoid me forever, sparing me the chore of avoiding him for myself. I’ll never have to worry about where I sit for meals, after this, because Saihara will choose for me. He’ll hang out with Akamatsu in the opposite corner of the fucking world and never look at me again.

What can I say. I’ve always been a team player.

\- - -

Saihara is sitting at the table, during breakfast, with open seats on either side. Such a super easy thing, sitting next to Saihara. So easy. Ee-zee. He’s just sitting there, not saying anything at all, just minding his own business. Super like Saihara, hat included.

“Hi,” I say, voice loud and scratchy.

Saihara glances at me from underneath the brim of his hat.

“Nice...weather? Outside?”

He looks back down at his plate, shrugging.

I slide into the chair on his left, Akamatsu in front of me. “Haha, did you know I lost both shoes on the way here? The Monokubs stole them and I had to chase them _alll_ around the school. It was super dumb.”

“You don’t look like you were running,” Akamatsu points out.

I frown. “That’s ‘cause I’m in such peak condition! I was set to be an Olympic athlete before we ended up in this dump.”

“Oh yeah?” Iruma drawls, to Akamatsu’s right. “What sport?”

“Pole-vaulting! And don’t get your hopes up; it’s nothing like pole-dancing.”

“You? Pole-vaulting? More like you were set to be in the 500m lie. ...You know, because you lie so much.”

Toujou puts a cup of tea in front of me and sets out some sugar packets. She knows I don’t eat breakfast. It’s still a little weird, having her mother us, but hey. I’m not going to complain. It’s not like I know how to properly take care of myself, anyways, what with my ten-thousand flunkies and servants.

“There’s no 500m Olympic sport,” Saihara mutters.

“Exactly!” I say. “You’re such a liar, Iruma! You should be in the 500m lie. Since you lie.”

“Shut up, shut up. It was cringey the first time, I don’t need to hear it again.”

“Mm. 500m lie! 500m lie! Iruma’s finest diss.”

“Will you please stop talking,” she mumbles, before resuming funneling food into her mouth.

“Aw, is Iruma gonna snap and murder me, starting that super fun killing game? Just because I won’t participate in the super boring dating game? For the last time, I have to reject your advances. You’re too ugly for me!”

“No one’s murdering anyone,” Akamatsu says firmly.

I lift a hand to my mouth, as if I’m giving some serious consideration to her hokey protagonist dialogue. “Mmmmm.” I click my tongue. “Sounds like something a murderer would say.”

“O-Ouma, please,” Saihara says, quiet at my right elbow.

I twist my neck to look at him, his eyes downcast underneath his dumb hat. There’s never any point at making faces at dour Saihara. I still do, though. I stare at him with big eyes. Big eyes make it easier to see him, obviously. It’s entirely for my benefit.

“See, Dickless gets you to shut up every time,” Iruma says. “You got a crush on him or what?”

Saihara flushes, his face turning an ugly, ruddy color. I turn back to her, watching her shove food into her mouth like we’ll be going into a nuclear winter tomorrow. She’s so annoying. She’s so, so, _so_ annoying. I can’t stand it. Look, Saihara’s even more awkward than usual and it’s entirely her fault. Saying I have a crush on Saihara. She’s being totally unfair, right now. She’s breaking the rules, and I hate it so much. Saying I have a crush on Saihara, right in front of him.

I become intensely, horrifically aware of my proximity to Saihara, in this moment. His elbow is just a few centimeters from me. I can feel the body heat, even. Iruma’s smirking, ugly and mocking. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ jerk. I can’t stand it. I really can’t.

“Duh!” I say, grinning. “I’m _madly_ in love with Saihara! I’m absolutely _obsessed_ with such a hunky heartthrob!”

I feel his elbow flinch near my side. Welp. Saihara doesn’t like how I refer to him, all familiar-like. I think he doesn’t like it, anyways. What do I know? I’m not going to stop, though, even if he doesn’t like it. So what if maybe he doesn’t like it. That’s fine! I don’t care. I still won’t stop. His not liking it doesn’t bother me at all. It’s funny, and it’s cute. I’m a funny, cute guy. That’s the character role I fulfill. Funny, cute, a little bit of a shitbag. Maybe a lot bit of a shitbag. Whatever.

“Ouma,” Akamatsu says.

“What, are you jealous of my affection? Feeling threatened?” My lip quivers, throat thick. Saihara isn’t liking the new attention on him. That much, I do know. He probably doesn’t like the direction of this conversation, either. He must really regret my sitting next to him. He’ll never let me sit next to him, ever again, not after this. My eyes sting with tears. “I can’t believe you’d be so immature, Akamatsu.”

She groans, from the back of her throat, turning back to her food. She’s going to ignore me for the rest of breakfast. Boring.

The only other conversation worth listening to is Resident Creep, Shinguuji, rambling to an increasingly uncomfortable Momota about contacting “outside help,” by which he means holding a totally legitimate séance. Stupid Momota looks like he’s gonna puke, he’s sweating and shaking so hard. No need for me to intervene on that scene; Shinguuji’s got my job more than covered. Other than that, everyone else is just eating whatever totally safe food Momma Toujou has deigned to serve us this fine morning.

Boring! Someone else, please.

There’s K1-B0, sitting across from Saihara. K1-B0 is super easy to get a rise out of, and it’s super fucking fun, considering he’s a scumbag surrogate. Nice television antennae going on, is that Gucci? Not his fault, but I still feel viciously bitter about it. Ha ha. Eyes on me, now, voyeurs at home.

“Kiibot!” I crow.

“Ugh,” he mumbles.

“Ugh,” Iruma echoes.

Saihara says nothing.

“Hey, I think my drink is getting cold. Do you think you could use your laser vision to warm it back up?”

“I don’t have laser vision!” he snaps. “Not all robots have laser vision!”

I roll my eyes. “Sorry, all robots are the same to me.”

“That is textbook robophobia!”

“Fun fact, K1-B0. I have tons of robot friends, and they’re totally cool with everything I say about robots.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he says hotly. “I am not okay with it, so you shouldn’t say it to me!”

“He’s lying, boltbrain,” Iruma says. “He doesn’t have robot friends.”

“How would you know?” I cock my head. “I have thousands of minions in my super secret organization, so there could be tons of robots. I could have lots of robot friends and you wouldn’t know it. I could be drowning in robot friends!”

She smirks. “Easy. You don’t have _any_ friends.”

“Ouch! Wow!” I wipe my face, jaw shaking. “W-wow, oh gosh... That’s so mean, you stinky slut...”

“‘Slut’! Look at you mooning over the most boring guy in our whole group--”

“It’s not a slut if it’s one person, dummy. You must be jealous that Saihara has standards not to be with a slut like you.”

“Ugh, the way you drool over him is just so fucking _obnoxious.”_

“Arf arf! I’m like his little doggy! I bet Saihara is very into that--”

“Stop,” Saihara says. His voice quivers.

I look at him. He looks really embarrassed. Kind of constipated. It’s not a good look. He’s so embarrassed. Ah.

“Oh,” I say. “I was just lying up a storm. You know how I am! I don’t like Saihara at all. Oops! His breath smells like wet trash and I don’t think he bathes. I think he’s a mutated sewer rat, actually, that crawled out of the underground tunnel and developed human intelligence.”

Saihara stares at his plate with glossy, faraway eyes.

“That was a lie too!” I tap all ten fingers on the table in rapid succession, over and over. Maybe I could be a pianist, like hokey protagonist Akamatsu. “Saihara is super mega cute, and also totally vanilla! Not that I would know, since Saihara is too good to date me, anyways! I need to level up my affection points with him.”

The table is terrifyingly quiet.

...

Ugh.

...

I jump, chair skittering across the floor. No one moves. No one looks at me. “I’m going to take a big poop,” I announce, before running out of the room.

I do go to the bathroom, but nothing comes out. Constipated, I guess. I stay in the stall for a long time, but no one comes in.

\- - -

I lie on my bed, clutching my pillow to my chest. The ceiling is ugly, like everything else in this shitty school. I hate this place, and I want to leave. I hate the people keeping us here even more. I almost hate the people enjoying us being here more than them, but they score a close second, instead.

I really cocked it up today, huh? I _suuuper_ embarrassed Saihara. Yikes. Double-yikes. Slap that shit into my cringe compilation. Hurk.

I want to pick up the pillow and scream into it. I want to kick my legs and punch the mattress. Ah, I really did some dumb stuff. Saihara hated it when I joked about liking him. Just the idea of me liking him is enough to turn him into an incoherent, depressed jumble of human sweat. What was I even thinking? It wasn’t even that funny. It was just stupid, and I hurt his feelings. Nothing he won’t recover from, but it’s still so pointless. I’m such a dick. 

Iruma isn’t really a girl genius, calling me out on my crush. It should be obvious, I do like Saihara. A lot. Even if he doesn’t like me back. Even if he won’t look at me, and he hardly talks to me. Saihara is super earnest, and he’s kind, and he’s dorky as hell in that awful hat. I wish he had more confidence, that he didn’t mumble half his sentences, that he smiled more and had half of a single vertebrae to his personality. Sure. But I mostly want those things because, I dunno, I feel like he’d be happier like that.

I just wish he were more assertive, okay. He’d be hotter, at the very least.

Assertive Saihara. Not too much. Like, he’s still himself. But he’s not a pushover. He stands up for himself, doesn’t let floozies like Iruma and Akamatsu walk all over him. He’s a detective who’s confident in his own abilities. He’s the kind of detective who’ll go after criminals and he won’t stop until he catches them.

I don’t know. I like to think about it.

It’s a dumb thing, really.

I can see it, though. Saihara, with his stupid hat on, standing in an alleyway with a flashlight. He sweeps it though the area, but the light just barely misses me. He’s incredibly thorough, except for that one patch of dirt next to the dumpster where I’m hiding, not making a sound.

Then, suddenly, oh no! His light catches me.

We stare at each other for a tense moment. Saihara’s face is difficult to make out, past the glare of the flashlight, past the shadow of his hat’s brim, but still. Our eyes meet.

What will you do, Saihara? Will you try to catch me?

Of course! He starts, lunging toward me, but I’m much too quick, muscles coiled and ready to roll away from his reaching arms. Saihara’s slim, soft fingers just barely brush against my shoulder, and fail to grasp onto anything.

“You’ve got to try harder than that,” I say, or something to that affect.

Saihara’s brow knits in consternation. He doesn’t say anything, though, just breathes heavily and looks at my tangled limbs on the ground. My friends are waiting just around the corner with a getaway car. I’m in complete control of this situation. I’ll be fine. I can leave, whenever I want.

“How much longer do I have to chase after you?” he says. He doesn’t mumble at all.

“Until you catch me,” I reply brightly.

He nods at that, thinking it over. Saihara always gets so lost in his own head. I could have left minutes ago, but I let him have space to think. Saihara looks so cute when he’s thinking. He’s doing his deep-brain truth-seeking shit, and I just love it so much. He’s pulling me apart in his head and sticking the pieces back together again.

“That’s fair,” he settles on.

“Fair’s fair in love and war.” I smile at him. “I like to think we’re engaged! In both of those things, that is. Anyways, I really should be going. Better luck next time, _Mister_ _Detective.”_

Saihara frowns as I scramble away from him, slinking off down the alley. His flashlight points at the ground, but I can hear his footsteps coming after me. He’s walking, then walking faster. My heart pounds, hearing him move behind me, it’s knocking around my ears.

My friends grab me roughly around my armpits and throw me into the car. “You get the intel?” one asks me.

“I think so,” I gasp, patting at my hip, where the blueprint lies. “But Detective Saihara is hot on our trail, so you gotta step on it now. I don’t think this will be an easy heist.”

“Shit,” another curses, pulling the car into drive.

“Yeah...” I rub at my face, fingers running over my lips, Saihara’s eyes in my mind, his footsteps in my ears. “Shit.”

Like I said! It’s a dumb fantasy. It’s _sooo_ embarrassing. It’s so embarrassing, in fact, that I wouldn’t share it with anybody. Not even if this place had an Ultimate Therapist hanging around, or an Ultimate Daydream Analyzer. Ew! Please. This diseased brain of mine is my business and my business alone. If anyone else wants access, I’ll have to start charging admission.

Could make a lot of money that way. But money’s never been too much of an issue. My friends and I take care of each other. Money’s nothing. I’ll keep the privacy. Thanks.

If my friends are even real. Could be another daydream. Some insanity-induced wish fulfillment. Who’s to say? I can’t confirm anything outside of these stupid walls. I could be letting all of them down, bumming around Reality TV Juvie, while they’re left on their lonesome. It’d be much more preferable if they didn’t exist at all.

Ha ha.

Better that way, and way more tragic antihero movie material. ‘I work alone’ or some other angsty bullshit. I’d be like the roaming rounin of the group, or some shit. Pretty romantic stuff.

Not that that’ll net me any gains. Saihara clearly isn’t interested--which is _fine_ \--and I’m clearly not interested in anyone who isn’t Saihara. These things happen. It’s nobody’s fault.

The trick is getting my mind off of him. Which is hard to do, when we’re trapped in a bubble with cameras on us. People leech off of drama; I’m sure this unfortunate crush of mine is playing into Monokuma’s favor. It sucks. Really, really sucks.

If my friends were here, they’d help me get my mind off of lame, simpering Saihara. They were always good at doing that, helping me get unstuck from the bad shit that can’t be fixed. We used to run the streets at night until my eyes got too fuzzy to see straight, laughing like banshees and disrupting the peace. So many police calls, so many fumbling chases. They never caught us. The cops in our neighborhoods weren’t up to snuff. No way they’d ever catch us. They didn’t care about us enough to try too hard, anyways. Nobody ever cared that much about any of us. That’s why we stuck together, because...

Look at me. Spouting sentimental bullshit. I make myself sick with such boring, feelsy garbage. Talking about them as if they’re real, as if anything here is even certain. As if I’ve got any control of this situation, as if I could leave anytime I want. Real pathetic, huh? Ha ha. Yeah.

Shit.

\- - -

“Boo! Just make it for me. I held my end of your stupid, mean bet,” I whine, flopping my arms over her worktable. “Pwease? I’m dying here, Iruma. Dying of boredom!”

“So the thing that will cure your ‘boredom,’” she says, barely containing her frustration and I love it, “is a vacuum that sucks up _little bugs you can’t see.”_

“Yup!” I smile, jumping up and down. I set my hands on my hips. “That’s the _only thing_ that can cure me of this terminal boredom. If you make it for me, I’ll--I dunno--I’ll call you a filthy sow or something like that.”

“F-filthy sow?” She grabs her head, sighing. Iruma is super gross, but I almost feel kind of bad for her. Not! I would never feel bad for a mega pervert like Iruma. She’s worse than the MILFs in shota hentai doujin. I wonder if any of the people watching this have written shota hentai doujin about Iruma and me. Super gross! I’m not playing for that team, sorry ladies.

“Ouma,” a quiet voice says.

I stiffen, catching sight of Iruma’s twitching face. She hates me, but she wants to make a nice face for the encroacher. What a dilemma for her. The encroacher is Saihara, so I don’t blame her for wanting to look nice. Too bad Iruma _never_ looks nice.

“Saihara!” I chirp, gripping the edge of Iruma’s shop table. I stare at the wall. Why? Duh, I’m embarrassed! Why would he even be speaking to me, after that debacle this morning? Besides, I can’t face Saihara when I haven’t put my face on yet. I just rolled out of bed. Haven’t applied my fourth layer of foundation or applied mascara to my lips or anything. I’m a mess!

“I...need to talk to you,” he says.

“Anything for my precious Saihara.” I hop a little, hands tight on Iruma’s slutty table. Ugh, who knows what she’s done on this table? Or _to_ it? I’m drawing a blank on weird things someone can do to a table, so I’ll have to take a raincheck on that line of thought. I’ll come back to it when I have new material.

“Um. Outside,” he says. “Please.”

“Of course! Just a second, darling!” My own voice is so loud it gives me a headache, echoing in the cement room. Iruma grimaces at me with watery eyes. Don’t blame her on that! Wow, that was super weird and embarrassing. Vocal chords, please work with me here.

The door clicks shut. Saihara is gone. Well, not gone. Waiting outside.

For me.

For...me? Saihara Shuuichi, specifically, waiting outside (outside being outside of this lab of the Ultimate Inventor) for me, moi, mich, Ouma Kokichi, that is--

“Calm down,” Iruma hisses. “He’s not gonna suck your dick.”

“Ew, Iruma! Wasn’t thinking about that all. Nice try at the mind-reading, though, pervert. Maybe someday you’ll develop full human empathy.”

“Whatever. Just saying. I don’t know why that guy gets your dick hard. Every time I’m around him, I’m terrified he’s gonna slit his wrists.”

“How do you even know I have a dick?” I huff. “You all make these assumptions about me, without ever getting confirmation. None of you ever try to get to know me, on my terms. You know, Chabashira says the meanest things about me! Like I don’t have other life experiences or something, you know what I mean?”

She stares at me, lips twitching. “What are you trying to say--”

“I could have a tentacle! I could be an alien life-form. Do you think Saihara is xenophobic at all or?”

She throws an oil-soaked rag onto the worktable. “Ugh, just forget it. You’re insufferable. Go outside and _please_ don’t drive him to an emo suicide pact.”

I trounce to the door, leaning back towards her. “So you’ll make me my tiny bug-sucking vacuum, pretty Iruma?”

“Only if you leave in the next two seconds.”

I slam the door behind me, cackling. Bugvac is a go. The breakfast debacle was nothing, compared to the potential gains. Iruma is too easy. I don’t know why she does things for me, but she always delivers. I’m more than okay with the mysterious workings of Iruma’s brain, so long as she does the important stuff. And this is important. Confirmation, if nothing else. All for you, disgusting voyeurs. Insert heart emoticon here.

“Ouma?” Saihara cocks his head, hands in a tight knot in front of his slacks.

“Saihara!” I smile, rolling onto my heels. “So, what did you need to talk to me about? Thinking about joining my organization? I have a slot open! The nine-thousand nine-hundred and ninety-ninth member just left, so we could squeeze you in.”

“Ah. No.” He reaches for his hat. Bad sign. Abort mission.

“I mean,” I try again, watching him fiddle with the brim. He’s staring at the ground now. Talking to Saihara feels like the hardest setting on a dating simulator. Every option leads to failure. I’m always up for a challenge, though! I play all my video games on hard mode. If they don’t have a hard difficulty, I throw them in the trash. “Is there something I can help you with? I’m always happy to help my treasured Saihara!”

Still fiddling with the hat. I could tear my hair out in frustration. Why do I fuck up everything?

“Saihara,” I try yet again, muscling my tone into something softer and kinda sincere-sounding. I’m not sincere, though, since I don’t know what I’m even supposed to be sincere _about._ But hey. I try.

“I’m working to it,” he manages.

“Okay!” I straighten my back. “No problem! Take all the time you need!”

“So. About this morning.”

“This morning!” I repeat, my neck heating up with dread. There’s a free fall coming, where my stomach will lift to my neck and splatter on my pelvis. Hoo boy, how fun. How absolutely exciting.

“Why did you sit with me, today?”

“Huh?” I cock my head, trying to look like a total idiot. I must be succeeding, but I can’t tell for certain. I can’t get a good read of his face when he’s hiding behind his hat like a jerk. “Something wrong with that?”

“You never sit with me,” he says. “You always sit at the opposite end of the table of me, every meal.”

My eyes widen, mock surprise. Okay, well I am sort of surprised. But he doesn’t need to know that. “How would you know? Are you telling me you keep track of where I sit, at breakfast?”

“I just...notice things,” he says. “You’re always as far away from me as possible, every morning.”

“Oh? By how many chairs, sir? What’s the hypotenuse between our respective seats?”

“Always opposite side of the table, always at least five chairs away.”

Huh. I can’t help staring at him.

“S-sorry,” he starts, eyes wide. His hands raise to his hat, fingers tense. That hat is his security blanket, and he walks around with it in public. Kokichi, why do you like the most likely bedwetting candidate in this group of sixteen teenage degenerates? Stellar taste, sir.

“Apology accepted!” I say brightly. “I’m so flattered I have a detective stalker chasing after little ol’ me. Counting chairs and everything! Such attention to detail.”

“I can’t just turn it off.” There’s a bite of frustration to his voice, snapping and terse. Then it’s gone. He retreats into his hat. “I wish I could...”

“Sorry,” I say, before I can properly think over what angle I’m going for.

His eyes peek up from under his hat, twin slivers of ochre.

“Sorry,” I say again, smooth and liquid on my tongue. The angle I’m going for is conflict resolution, obviously. Why else would I ever apologize for anything? I might not be a people-pleaser like Gokuhara, but I can do one thing and that’s act. I can act my ass off. “I’m really sorry, Saihara. I didn’t mean to hurt you, today. Never my intention! I’m an absolute angel, after all.”

“...Huh? You didn’t,” he mumbles into his uniform collar, furrowing his brow.

Now who’s the liar? If I didn’t hurt him, he wouldn’t have come to talk to me. My face spasms with poorly suppressed irritation. “Right,” I say. “Sure. Ah. Say, Saihara. Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

“Well,” he starts, and stops. “One thing. Just. Ah.”

Saihara is such an unhappy wreck. It’s annoying and depressing. “Huh?” I say, leaning back, spine popping.

“Iruma said you...wanted to sit. By me. At breakfast.”

Mm.

I stare at him, my brain clicking slowly.

Mm.

She told him.

Mm.

“Bitch,” I mutter.

Saihara blinks. “Ha?”

“I mean, yup! So I did say that to her. I did say a thing, that’s true. Absolutely true. I say lots of things, though, don’t I?”

He furrows his brow, eyes cloudy. “But you did sit next to me.”

“And?”

“And that suggests,” he says slowly, “that you sat next to me, because you wanted to. But based on previous behavior, you’ve been avoiding me. So there must be a reason that you would want to sit next to me, that overrides the reason you would have for avoiding me.”

He isn’t looking at me, but he also isn’t pulling on the brim of his hat like it’s some lifeline. He’s puzzling over this very (very, very) minor mystery. Saihara always seems to take up more space when he’s like this. I wish he could take up more space all the time.

“Oh?” I fold my arms across my chest. “You got proof of that?”

“You were staring at me,” he says, voice firm. “You were nervous. You kept fidgeting your fingers. I thought maybe you needed a favor. You didn’t ask me for anything, though.”

Embarrassing. I smile, out of reflex. Saihara’s eyes snap to me. A frisson works up my spine, from tail to nape. It’s awful and exhilarating. Like he’s trying to peel back my skin and look underneath. He’s paying total attention to me. My stomach coils under that look, and my legs want to flee. I want to be anywhere but here, but I also want him to never stop looking at me like that.

“Why,” he says.

“Ah.” I smile wider, face loose and calm. A small giggle erupts from my lips. “Why should I say?”

He frowns, narrowing his eyes.

“Can’t a man have secrets?”

He only looks at me. I’m going to go insane, if he looks at me like that for a second longer. I really will. He’s so much taller than me, he could grab me without a thought, twist my arms behind my back like they do in crime movies, shove me against the side of stupid Iruma’s lab, and force me to give him a straight answer. He could really do that. He could.

He wouldn’t, though. This is Saihara, we’re talking about. Come on, Kokichi. Seriously?

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I say, voice loud to my own ears. Words just splatter out from behind my teeth. Just typical bullshit, my own special brand of verbal diarrhea. “Running a secret organization is surprisingly stressful. I’ll probably be all wrinkled up by the time I’m twenty. I’ll really lose my babyface by then, you think? Maybe I’ll get to retire at twenty-five, and move to an overseas country. I’ll have to get my favorite sodas imported and it’ll cost a fortune, but I’ll be able to afford it. I’m super loaded, with all of my stolen money and my six Swiss bank accounts.”

“That doesn’t explain why you sat beside me.”

“Maybe I wanted to shake it up!” I laugh. Yeah, shake myself to the core. By being a big idiot. “Who says it’s got anything to do with you, Saihara? How narcissistic. Maybe I was so frazzled, stressed about my organization, that I made an oopsie and sat next to your BO-ridden form. And Iruma lied to you. Since she’s such a liar.”

He makes an unsatisfied hum. He knows he’ll get nowhere with this. I’m tight-lipped and I’m not going to tell him that Iruma Miu fucking dared me to go near him and reveal my asshole of a self to him. He cocks his head, pursuing a different line of questioning. “So you’re worried about your organization.”

“Nope! I actually really needed to take a huge shit, but I couldn’t, so I was super squirmy. Nothing super deep.”

“So you needed to defecate,” Saihara says.

“Wrong again! The truth is, I was just so nervous to sit next to you, because I’ve got a big fat crush on Saihara Shuuichi, Super High School Level Detective.”

Saihara doesn’t say anything.

“But in reality, I was just planning out how I was going to murder little Miss Iruma Miu, which is why I stopped by her lab just now, to scope out the potential site of my potential murder plan. I’m thinking about getting Gokuhara in on it. What do you think, Mister Detective?”

“Mister Detective?” he says, face falling from analytical to befuddled.

My smile cracks. Shit. “You’re a detective and a mister,” I say, voice too raspy to pass off as flippant. “There a problem? You gonna tell me you’re not a detective or not a mister? You haven’t been lying to me, have you?”

“No,” he says, eyebrows arching. “Ah. Okay? It’s a. Strange thing to call me. I-- I’m not _really_ a detective, you know?”

Oh, great. This again. Always this shit, always Saihara downplaying himself. Always Akamatsu or someone else coddling him, after the fact. He’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous, and I’m not going to wipe his self-esteem off the floor for him.

“N-not really...” My lip quivers. I fill my lungs, picturing his face as I let the waterworks flow. Saihara delivers beautifully, staring at me like he’s just realized that he’s got a major blockage in his colon. “You’re _not_ a detective? At all? So... So you’ve been _lying_ to me, Saihara?”

“No, I--”

I stare at him, frowning. There’s a bit of wetness in my nose I want to sniff back up, but that’d ruin the great presentation I’ve got going on. Crying to disdainful, bam. It’s a skill. Screw Yonaga; I’m the real artist in this reality TV teenage hellhole. “I hate liars,” I say, unamused.

And it’s true. I do hate liars.

Saihara stares at me, lips tugging downwards comically. “But...” He shakes his head. “Ah. N-never mind.”

“Anyways,” I say. “I need to go to my room, to do some super secret organization leadership stuff. If you don’t mind, Liar.”

He ducks his head, stepping to the side like I’m the fucking Prime Minister. It’s super goofy looking, considering I go up to his neck.

“You’re not made out of glass,” I say. “Have a little self-respect.”

“What,” he says.

“Bye, Liar!” I chortle. I don’t look back.

\- - -

Dinner isn’t awkward at all. Saihara’s sitting with Akamatsu and K1-B0, talking about some slightly less tight bolts on the windows in one of the classrooms or something. As if that’s helpful at all. _Hellooo_ , we’re in a dome! Dumbasses.

I’m sitting on the opposite edge of the table, and there are open seats in a neat triangle around me. The closet person to me is Momota, who’s busy rambling about drag physics to a quietly suffering Harukawa. Momota sure loves to hear himself talk.

Is Saihara cataloging this seat situation into his shocking inventory of dining hall configurations? Does he keep a mental transcript of meal conversations that he can run through at any given time?

Probably not. That would be crazy. But maybe. He is the Super High School Level Detective, after all.

But still. Probably not.

But. It would be useful, wouldn’t it? Not because he’s paying attention to me, where I sit, what I eat, what I talk about, _me,_ but because it means Saihara is taking stock of our captivity. Maybe whatever he’s talking about with the lamebrains on the other end of the table is helpful, after all.

Ha ha. Nope. We’re in a _dome_ , you morons. Windows don’t mean shit.

But his skills could be utilized, definitely. Saihara has a very sharp mind. The only thing he’s lacking in is confidence. And better taste in friends. He’s friends with the most basic bitches in this place--Akamatsu, K1-B0, Momota, people like that. It’s annoying. If Saihara did his investigations with _me,_ we might actually get somewhere, instead of spending hours testing bolts on windows. Like, guys, you know we’re in a dome, right? Seriously.

Saihara’s eyes catch mine, and I look away before I can see him do the same. I don’t need to see him look away from me. Not today, no thanks. It’s been rough enough, what with Iruma’s stupid fucking bet and Saihara getting uncomfortable and then interrogating me about why I would ever sit next to him.

Interrogating. Ah.

I fidget, staring down at my plate. _Why_ am I like this? Ugh. So embarrassing. I should book it out of here. I don’t care if I finish the rest of this rice or not. I’m super not hungry, right now.

Gokuhara can feed it to his bugs or something. I don’t know. The bugs in his lab, anyways. There aren’t any bugs outside. Or maybe there are. Maybe I should pester Gokuhara more, just so I can get more of his ridiculously good eyesight. I’ve got my theories, but the only person I share them with is the drawing on my whiteboard. He’s handsome, smart, and funny, and he never talks back. Ideal partner, honestly.

Well, ideal second to Saihara. Since Saihara is a detective who notes exactly where people are situated within rooms and can list occurrences with accuracy. Kind of indicative of useful observational skills, that.

Is he looking at me? I feel like someone is looking at me. I don’t look up. It could just be Iruma sneering at me, for whatever reason. Maybe my handwriting was too bad on the Bugvac schematics. Maybe she didn’t like my caricature of her in the corner, saying, “My name is Iruma Miu and I LOVE EATING CAT DICKS.” Who can say for sure?

Seriously, though, brain. ‘ _Is he looking at me?’_ Who? Saihara? Puh- _lease._ You dumb idiot. No, obviously not. Though he clearly has before. Since he notices where I sit at breakfast and, presumably, dinner. It’s just routine detective stuff, and he definitely does it to everyone. It’d be nice if he did it just to me, if he only ever looked just at me.

Kokichi. What the fuck. Get a grip.

Saihara isn’t looking at me. I slide my plate away and stand up, cracking my back. Harukawa shoots me a dirty look at the sound. I smile, waggling my eyebrows. She looks away, fingers clenching around her butter knife until the knuckles are bone-white. Mm. She’s not super subtle, is she? Ha ha. Child caregiver, my ass.

Toujou sends me a questioning look, where she’s sitting with Shinguuji and the other weird people near the middle of the table. (Shinguuji’s rambling about occult rituals on the fourth floor or some shit. Ew, no thanks, nerd. Poor Hoshi.) They always eat together, and I think us normies prefer it that way. The freak collective. Sheesh, it’s like they’ve formed a union or something.

I don’t acknowledge her, and I slip out of the room, sliding through the double doors without even a click from the doorknob. I wonder if Saihara noticed me get up and leave, or if he’ll notice later. Or if he’ll notice at all.

Stupid. Seriously. Get a grip.

\- - -

Back to my bedroom. Back to stepping over boxes of important shit I have no use for at the moment, knocking papers off of my bed to get at my pillow. The rubber horse mask stares at me. I stick out my tongue at it and plop onto the mattress.

“Hey there, handsome boy,” I say. “Neigh-neigh.” Makes sense to have a horse mask, I think. It’s funny to look at, and it’s a namesake. I guess that makes horses my fursona, by proxy. Ouma Kokichi, Equine Fursuiter and Supreme Leader. Going to all the best kemono cons with his beloved furry artist and detective fiancé, Saihara Shuuichi. Do you think Ouma Shuuichi is a weird name? Does it sound bad on the tongue? Saihara Kokichi? I cringe, once the gravity of the thoughts catch up with me. “Man, I’m being so dumb.”

I slap my hand down on the rubber mask, listening to the air hiss out. Mm. I feel sort of numb, like I can’t feel my face. “Furries are lame,” I mumble, spitting into my pillow. “I bet Iruma’s a furry.”

Anyways. This is getting nowhere. I feel bone-tired. Why? I dunno. Maybe it has something to do with being trapped in a reality television teen prison. Who can say. Maybe I’m just burnt out because I had to interact with Saihara in an amazing two scenarios. And we even had a full-blown conversation!

Yup. That really happened. Saihara talked to me, today. He got kind of detective-y at me, too. Let’s try to remember the positives, yeah? Saihara notices that I don’t sit near him. (Is that a good thing? Logistically speaking, Saihara’s attention to detail may become highly problematic. I shouldn’t be happy about that. But I kind of am?) And he came to talk to me about it. He looked for me. Then Saihara gave me this _look_ , like he was trying to figure me out. He wanted to figure me out. He was thinking about me so hard. I was the center of his attention, in that moment.

And he came out of the exchange empty-handed.

I’m also happy about that, but part of me also feels a little disappointed. It’s hard to explain. I wish he’d pushed a little harder. I wouldn’t have broken, it still would have ended the same, but I don’t know. Maybe I’m just that type of masochist. Wouldn’t be surprising, considering. Maybe I just want him to try harder. Would that make me a sadist, instead? Who knows. Not even I do, at this point. Whatever.

Whatever. Whatever.

So stupid. I’m being dumb. I stare at my ceiling until my eyes are dry and glazed over. I’m just. Being dumb. Thinking about him like that. It’s wishful thinking, and it gets me nowhere. It’s... Just really unnecessary. But still, it’s fun, at least. Not the real-life stuff, but the fantasy stuff is.

Like, say I’m doing some art heist in a fancy, crusty museum. That kind of fantasy stuff. And, oops! Turns out Saihara got tipped off to my whereabouts, and he’s coming for me before I can abscond with an overrated painting by some famous fart. I can see it, on the dorm room ceiling. Like, I’m getting ready to slip out the doorway, but...

“There’s no escape,” Saihara says, standing in front of the only available exit. I’ve studied these floor plans, and so has he. Saihara is incredibly thorough, and he knows it.

“Oh,” I say. “You’ve cornered me like this, Mister Detective? I haven’t even properly stolen anything. Haven’t left the premises. There’s no crime.”

“Breaking and entering is a crime,” he points out.

“But wouldn’t you want to catch me for something a lot more serious?”

“We already have proof of your various misdeeds.”

(Misdeeds. Ha, that is something Saihara would say. Good one.)

“You must have been waiting a _looong_ time for me to show up,” I say. “The information we leaked to you guys said we’d be here at midnight, but it’s three, now.”

“That’s of no concern,” Saihara says. “You’re under arrest.”

“Mm.” I put a finger to my mouth. “Not _yet,_ I’m not. You’ve got to catch me.”

“I have caught you.”

I hold my hands out in front of me, opening and closing my palms. “Nope! You definitely haven’t. I don’t feel Detective Saihara Shuuichi’s hands around my little wrists. He hasn’t cuffed me!”

Saihara starts, poorly concealed shock on his face. “How do you know my name?”

(This would be a fun bit. Not sure if I want to keep it, though. We can, this time, I guess.) I laugh loudly, the sound bouncing off of the high ceilings. “What? You’ve only been chasing me for so long. Is it wrong to know the name of such an _ardent_ pursuer?”

Saihara frowns, a little flush on his neck. “I’m... I suppose. But that doesn’t matter. Walk over, with your hands up.”

“Or what?”

He reaches down and pulls out his gun, steadying it between his hands and taking aim. He’s aiming at my arm, though, not my chest. (Wouldn’t matter, anyways. This is my daydream and I can totally dodge bullets. But it is sweet that he’s shooting to incapacitate. Super romantic, I feel.) “Come here, with your hands up.”

“Mm...” I lick my lips, and Saihara’s watching my tongue move. Museums are climate-controlled, so the air tends to be pretty dry. “No, I don’t think so. You don’t have the advantage that you think you do, Mister Detective.”

“Come over here, with your hands up,” he says firmly.

“Listen,” I say, leaning forward. I can feel Saihara’s eyes on the dip of fabric around my clavicles. “My friends are right on the other side of you. As soon as you walk out of here with me, they’ll definitely jump you.”

“Your organization,” Saihara says.

“Yup! All one-billion of us.”

“That’s a lie. There’s only ten of you. I’ve profiled you.”

“T-ten? Yikes.” I whip my head to the side, my mask sliding a little against my nose. “That’s news to me! Here I was thinking, I had a hundred.”

“You just said--”

“That I have a thousand followers? I know. And it’s true!” I rub my hands together, lowering my voice. “Now why don’t _you_ come over _here,_ Mister Detective? And we can have a quick little chat, and then nobody gets hurt?”

“No.”

“If you do, I’ll leave my goods behind. You can recover them, no damages. We’ll have a little chit-chat, and we both can leave.”

“The security guard has already been hurt,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

I wave my hand. “Security guards don’t count. Come on over, we can have a quick talk, and then you let me go.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then you come over here, I hand you the painting--no harm, no foul--and I _escape.”_

Saihara opens his mouth, then closes it. He lowers the gun.

(This is getting to the part where I stop imagining meandering dialogue and we start mackin’ at each other. Just a little mackin’. A couple smooches, some mild UST where Saihara really really _wants_ me and I kind of sort of want him too, but you know, we can’t really be together because reasons and-)

A knock on the door jolts me back to my bed. The horse head stares at me with its bulging rubber eyes. I sit up, rubbing my hand against the back of my head, where shorter strands of hair are sticking up like a porcupine’s ass.

I hop off my bed, navigating through the labyrinth of boxes and other bullshit on my floor. Important bullshit. Maybe I should consider an organizational structure. Mm. Yeah, how about no. I’m not that kind of person.

I knock back at the door, and hear steps shuffle. “Yoohoo,” I call. “Ouma Kokichi coming out! Take four steps back and don’t move a muscle.”

The four steps are audible. Ha ha. Seriously? I should’ve said something crazier than that. I should have told them to do a handstand or something.

I crack the door open, revealing Saihara’s hat-obscured face.

“Um. Hi, Ouma,” he says.

I weasel my way out of my door and click it shut, before he can poke his nosey face into my important business. “Saihara! What brings you to little ol’ me’s abode?” I lean against the doorframe, chest throbbing. “Thinking about joining my organization? We’ve still got that slot open, you know.”

“Ah, no.” He readjusts his hat on his head, unsettling his bangs. “You didn’t finish you dinner and left early.”

He noticed, huh? That makes me giddy and super pissed off. I don’t know where either of those emotions are coming from, to be honest. It’s a confusing miasma. “I ate plenty. Thanks for checking up on me, Dad!”

“All you ate was rice,” he points out. “You had a huge plate of nothing but rice. And you ate half.”

“Yikes,” I whistle. “Stalkerhara, on my case about my diet. Maybe I _want_ scurvy and anemia. That ever occur to you?”

“Stalk--” He shakes his head, taking a step back. “Ah. I... I overstepped my place, I’m sorry. I just thought.” He stops, eyes staring straight ahead at my door. The little color he has drains from his face.

“You thought?” I prompt him.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

“Hmmm?” I cock my head. “Alright. Well, if that’s all, Saihara. I’ve got important things to do in my room. If you don’t mind--”

“Something’s up with you,” he says. He clenches his jaw afterwards, eyes still glued to my door like it’s the most interesting painting he’s ever seen.

Paintings. Ha. “Nothing more than usual!” I chirp. “Now, are you finished? Can I go, now?”

He lifts his arm, holding out a paper bag. He’s looking at the ground, off to the side. “I-I grabbed some Anpan from the kitchen. Um.”

I stare at his hand for a moment, his thin fingers shaking a little around the brown paper. I snatch it from him, and I slip back into my room, locking the door, then unlocking it, then locking it again.

My room really is a mess. I stare at my whiteboard, feeling faraway. Huh.

Yeah, no. We’re not going to speak of this, ever again.

Nope.

My heart’s going to throttle my throat and I’m going to die. Thanks a lot, Saihara. Dick. Asshole. Jerk.

Take a deep breath. Another. Another. Okay. So that was weird, right? I’m not the only one thinking that. He noticed me, and he worried about me. I’m not misconstruing this, am I? I open the bag, peering inside like there might be a bomb or anthrax or something else. But nope. It’s Anpan. That’s all.

Just Anpan. From Saihara. That’s all it is. Right. No biggie. It’s not a big deal at all. Bet he just picked it up on his way to the dorm. Thought maybe I’d want it, because he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. He just had to offload it on someone. Right. That would make sense.

And even if it was because he noticed I left and thought I was hungry, that’s not a big deal, either. Saihara is nice, he does nice, goody-goody shit for people all the time. It isn’t a big deal. No big deal.

There are three inside. I pull one out, taking an aggressive bite before I can psych myself out. How would I psych myself out of eating a stupid bun, anyways?

Red bean paste. It’s sweet.

I choke a little. I don’t know why. My room’s swimming. Help, Monokuma, we’ve got some plumbing issues! Nah. I’m just tired. I’m super tired. I don’t exactly sleep easy. That’s all.

I close my eyes when I swallow, because I’m really tired. The food goes down hard, because my throat is so thick and tight. The leftover red bean’s a little gritty against my teeth, so I keep licking them, over and over. I’m tired. I’m just really tired.

So I should definitely go to bed, right now. At eight o’clock. Since I’m, you know, tired.

That’s the only explanation I can come up with, at least.


	2. partners.

Breakfast goes great, thanks for asking. I eat a plate of re-heated rice in the kitchen, standing in front of the microwave. I’m hungry as shit. I ate all of Saihara’s Anpan at midnight when I woke up from some super great dreams and had to take a cold shower to feel like my body was real. It tasted really good. Best Anpan of my life, no question. I should tell Saihara it tasted like shit, just to see his reaction. That would be funny.

Except I won’t do that, because I will not being seeing Saihara. At least, not for a while. Yesterday put a little too much strain on this geriatric heart of mine.

Right. So what’s on today’s to-do? Well, Iruma should have the Bugvac ready to go. I may have slipped a threat under her door after I woke up at midnight and couldn’t fall back asleep, telling her I’d lock pick my way into her room and throw all her dildos in the swimming pool.

Once I’ve got the Bugvac in my grabby claws, I’ll have to take it for a spin. See if anything comes of it. I can get Gokuhara to check it out within the next few days, and hear if he sees any “bugs” flying around inside. It’s worth a shot. But the more stuff I try, the more times I fail, and the less optimistic I feel.

That’s the trap, though. That’s their fucking trap. They don’t want me to keep going. They don’t even want me to keep failing. They just want me to give up, period. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m too spiteful to throw in the towel.

There are people waiting for me outside of here (maybe) and I can’t afford to let them down. I can’t leave them alone any longer than I have. ( _If_ I’ve left anyone alone; don’t trust anything you’re fed in a place like this. Information or food. It’d be so easy for Toujou to kill all of us, wouldn’t it?)

Fuck it. Even if it was a lie, even if I’ve got nobody, that was a mistake on their end. It’s a powerful lie, and I can’t turn my back on it even if I wanted (I do want; it’s pretty likely to be fake.)

I wipe my face with a weird lacy towelette next to the oven. Toujou probably laid it out. Is lace Victorian? Hell if I know. Not that Toujou is actually Victorian--she’s the same age as the rest of us. Talk about a tea-aboo. I dump my plate in the sink, since she’ll probably come in and clean it later. If she likes doing it so much, I’ll let her. Whatever.

Hallway is clear. Or as clear as it’ll get. I’m sure people can watch my thrilling sojourn journey from the kitchen to Iruma’s lab, if they so choose. I blow a wet raspberry into my palm and hear it echo down the corridor. No response. Yeah, it’s as clear as it’ll get.

As my feet patter toward the front door, I start to hear a faint voice. It’s a hard voice to miss. Not exactly renown for subtly. He must be far from me, if I’m hearing him so quiet. I pause at a juncture, ears straining.

“...just don’t understand what you’re so freaked out about, man. So what? You shouldn’t bother with people like that. It’s just trouble in the long run.”

Hm. Not so far, actually. He’s doing his version of whispering, actually. I use the term “whispering” _very_ generously.

“Ah, it’s not... Well, I just think. That is, I’m not _sure,_ but I have a hunch. I just want to confirm some things, that’s all.”

Oh, well what do you know. Saihara’s hanging with his boo, Momota Kaito, Loo-minary of the Sharts. What a surprise. How shocking. Such an illustrious pair, all they’re missing is their respective gal pals, the hokey protagonist Akamatsu who’s always nagging on Saihara like she’s his homeroom teacher and Harukawa the Totally Real Babysitter that Momota drags around like she’s an untrained puppy on a rope. He _really_ has no self-preservation instincts, that guy. It’s hysterical.

Still baffling that everyone seems to believe the bullshit that Harukawa says. It’s really too easy to fool people, here. They’re so dumb. Saihara can’t believe she’s a Child Caregiver, can he? I bet he doesn’t. He’s just too stupidly polite to call her out on it, that’s all.

“A hunch? You want to spitball about it or?”

“Um, no. I could be wrong... So, I don’t want to cause any undue stress.”

Yeah. Saihara probably knew as soon as he saw her, but he wasn’t confident enough to tell her she’s a dumb asshole who’s also a liar. Harukawa’s lucky Akamatsu was with him, instead of almost anyone else. If Saihara had been with someone who gave him more confidence, or could also see through Harukawa’s half-assed lies, or maybe someone who was both, he definitely would have pointed out how dumb she is.

But nah, Saihara prefers to hang off of losers like Akamatsu and Momota, like a male anglerfish latched onto a female. Fun fact, the male anglerfish eventually gets absorbed into the female’s body. In case you didn’t know that. That’s the image I was going for. Saihara and Akamatsu, Momota and Saihara. He might as well just legally attach “and” to the beginning or end of his name.

“Oh, okay. Alright. Just let me know if you do want to talk, yeah? I’m in your corner. We should be working together on stuff, you know?”

“Thanks, Momota. I... I do know. So thanks.”

Seriously. Saihara’s with Momota so much, they should just write up the marriage certificate already. It’s almost more nauseating than when Saihara’s hanging off of Akamatsu. The only advantage with Momota is that I don’t have to watch him readjust his underwire bra for the seventh time in half an hour. Beyond that, they’re essentially the same brand of character. Spewing the same naïve garbage while treating Saihara like a second-rate assistant.

Obnoxious as hell. Yet they’re the belles of the ball, here on Reality TV Teenage Fuck-Or-Kill Simulator. The voyeurs at home must have _really_ terrible, bland taste. Momota and Akamatsu are the human equivalents of rice porridge. Yeck.

“A-Also, Momota, I don’t...like how you talk about him. I understand why you don’t trust him, but he’s still here with all of us and. I don’t know, I just. I think there’s more to him than he lets on.”

Saihara really deserves much better. Swap out Akamatsu as protagonist with Saihara any day. He’s meek, sure, but he’s also in possession of human intelligence and humility. Those jokes could learn a lot from him, if they bothered to actually talk to him instead of talk at him. That’s all they ever do. They rant about cooperation, but all they do is make big speeches and executive decisions with little input. They’ve got no idea. The sentiments they throw around may be good for ratings, but they’re not good for longterm survivability.

“Well, I’ll leave that to you, sidekick! I can’t stand being within a ten-meter radius of him, haha. But you get why I’m weirded out? You’ve been, like, fixated on him since we all got here.”

“I...” Classic Saihara mumbling. I can’t make out most of it. Not that I care enough to, of course. Not that I care _that_ much about whatever Saihara says. “...notice things...you...ah...”

“Sure, sure,” Momota says easily. A dull thud. Probably smacking him on the back in his grossly chummy way. Blergh. “I’m just worried. You know me! It definitely makes sense to keep an eye on him, though, and if you really want to do it, who am I to stop you? It’s a good idea, and you’re the detective.”

“Ah. I’m not _really_ a detective, but.”

But.

“Dude, have more confidence! I’m leaving it to you, regardless. Don’t let me down. I’m sure you’ll figure out all his evil schemes.”

“I don’t think he’s evil, Momota.”

“You can find out!”

Whatever. And it’s not a conversation I care about. Time to move, twiggy legs. Left, right, there we go. A little whistle, just some random bars. Oh, it’s turning into a jingle. I wonder when they play commercials for this show we’re on. This probably isn’t live, right? There would be so much downtime. But then again, I loved watching video game streamers speedrun the same games over and over online for hours while spamming chats with “wwww” until I got temp banned, so. Or I think I did. Who can say, right?

“H-hey, Ouma,” Saihara’s voice drifts through the hallway.

Oh. Great. I keep walking.

I can hear his footsteps pick up.

I walk faster. No thanks. Nah, I’m good.

“Ouma! Ah, hey!”

Nope. Nah, I’m good. No thanks, bucko.

“Ouma, I was, uh, looking for you earlier!” His voice is a lot closer now.

Curse Saihara and his long legs! 

My fingers wrap around the door handle and he’s on me. I can feel him, looming over my back. He could shove me into the door and grab my wrists, at this distance. He could totally crush me, if he didn’t weigh a much as a paper grocery bag.

“Saihara,” I croon, tipping my head backwards until I catch sight of his hat. “Sorry, I’m occupied with official matters at the moment. If you want, you can wait in my boudoir.”

“Huh?” The hat twitches. I can imagine the face Saihara’s making.

“Quickly. Whatcha want? I’m a busy man.”

“O-oh.” Now’s the time to be bashful? They probably heard me whistling (stupid, stupid, stupid!) and Momota pushed him to follow after me. Gotta keep tabs on all the gremlin leaders at this sin school, after all. “I was just...wondering what you were up to.”

“Oh, okay! If you must know, I’m currently planning out the murder of one Momota Kaito.”

“Ouma.”

“Gosh, you guys always get on my case about my lies, but then never believe me when I tell the truth.”

“There’s a fable about that,” he says way too grimly. “A few, I think.”

“Jeez, did the room dip a few degrees? I feel like I’m talking to Shinguuji, right now!”

Saihara sighs. “Where are you headed?”

“Why? You keeping tabs on me, Saihara?”

He freezes, before backing away a few steps. “I’m not. I mean.”

I smile. “No, I get it. I get it. You gotta keep an eye on me, right? Makes sense. I _am_ so untrustworthy, after all.”

“N-no, that’s not-- I just--”

“Hm? You just _what,_ lovely Saihara?”

He coughs. “I’m just curious. You were at Iruma’s yesterday, and she said she’s making something for you. I just...wanted to know about it. I thought I’d ask you.”

“You thought you’d just _ask_ me?”

“Um. Yeah.”

I twist around a little, so I can look at him. He’s staring at the floor, face stiffly neutral. “Let me get this straight,” I say, entirely serious. I don’t want anything misconstrued here. “You thought you would just _ask_ me about what I’m up to, and that I’d give you a straight answer.”

“...I mean. Now that you say that out loud, I, uh.”

“I’m Ouma Kokichi.”

“I...know?”

“You _asked_ Ouma Kokichi for--” I stop. Saihara doesn’t say anything. Saihara thought he could just waltz up to me, do a backwards half-kabedon on my scrawny thirsty ass, and get an honest answer about my devious scheme to destroy Shitty Reality TV Teenage RomCom And/Or Murder Mystery?

The...absolute nerve.

The audacity.

It’s...

I’ll admit. I’m baffled.

Saihara’s slowly reddening face isn’t helping matters at all. Jeez, what right does he have to be that cute?

Before I can think better of it, I take the plunge. Because why the fuck not.

“So. I got Iruma to make this invention. I was planning on trying it outside, to test some things. If you want to tag along.”

\- - -

Saihara tags along. Which isn’t awkward as shit at all. He walks too close to me. _Waaay_ too close. He’s within two meters of my shoulder!

“Was this what you were speaking to Iruma about, yesterday?” he asks, voice soft. How considerate, not screaming my deeds out for the whole class to hear. Extra, extra! Ouma Kokichi is scheming something!

“Mm. Maybe! I’m still planning on murdering her, so I was also scoping out her lab.”

He sighs. “She’s done with your request, after one day? That’s really fast.”

I shrug. “It’s not like she does much else besides tinkering with shit and masturbating. Iruma has tons of time to make me all my important leader stuff.”

“I don’t understand why she would agree to help you, considering your...ah, mutual...dislike?”

“Dislike?” I laugh. “No, I just _looove_ Iruma! She’s so nice to me, you’ve got no idea. Never forces me to debase myself for anything! Iruma, she takes the high road. She’s a regular Akamatsu.”

Saihara makes a small noise. He doesn’t say anything else.

Well then. Okay.

I’m bored.

(Here’s a new scene. Let’s say DICE and I’ve set up a little get-together with Detective Saihara, the otherwise straight-laced cop who has agreed to negotiate with a group of miscreants. For what reason? We’re not entirely sure, but we extended an olive branch and he took it, if just for a night.

But once Saihara shows up, he’s way too fidgety. He isn’t focusing on me, and it’s driving me crazy. He should be focusing on me. My buddies know it bothers me, but what can they do? We just watch Saihara pace around.

“You wanted to negotiate with us,” I remind him.

“Right!” he says. “Right... Well, there’s a problem. One I didn’t consider. She’s staying late for once in her life I don’t know what I’m going to tell her, once I get back to the office...”)

Am I really going to imagine Fake Saihara when Real Saihara is right next to me? Not cool, brain. Super fucking lame-o.

And yet.

I mean, we’re just walking. And he isn’t saying anything to me. Talk about awkward.

(Her? “Oh?” I say, cocking my head. “Do tell, Mister Detective. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“My partner at the detective agency,” he sighs. “Iruma Miu. She’s really stupid and bad at everything, so I do all of her paperwork. But tonight, of all nights, she’s suddenly decided to be a responsible, functioning human and stay late to do work.”

“Sounds like a very stupid, dumb girl! Also ugly.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He fiddles with his hat. “You’re way hotter than her, Ouma. I wish you were my partner, instead, but unfortunately you’re a criminal.”

“We could be partners in crime!” I suggest.

But we both know Saihara would never give up his scruples for the lowly life of crime, not even for me, his super sexy romantic interest.)

I frown. This fantasy is really falling apart. Oh well. It was goofy from the start. Except for one thing. I _am_ way hotter than Iruma. Maybe I can get a consensus from the rest of the students. An anonymous vote, so people won’t feel pressured to vote for Iruma. I’m objectively, on every metric, better looking and sexier than her, and that would be just the way to shove it in her face.

“Ouma?” Saihara’s looking at me. Do you suppose he’s also the Ultimate Psychic? That would suck. Wait. Yeah, that would _suck._ Huh.

“Saihara,” I reply, grinning up at him.

He frowns, glancing away.

Cool. Great conversation.

No problem. Iruma’s lab is only another minute of walking away. A full sixty seconds. No need to pollute the air with too much sound. We can take in all the lovely nature noises, like the lack of birds or bugs. Or wind. Yeah, this is just the best. _So_ peaceful. Uh huh. I’m not dying here or anything. Feel great. Yup.

Oh, there’s Iruma’s lab. Bless.

I knock super loud, so she knows to remove whatever’s in her vagina before I finish opening the door. To my relief, though, she isn’t even at the front of her lab at all. Nobody in sight.

“Iruuuuuma!” I cry, lip wobbling. Saihara jumps, behind me. His hand latches onto the doorframe, just a few scant centimeters from my elbow. Hoo boy. Calm down, Kokichi. What the hell, haha. “You pwomised me my pwesent!”

“Hey, bitch,” she shouts from the back of her lab. “I’ll be there in a hot second. I got your souped-up cock-pump ready to go.”

“Thaaanks, sweetie,” I say, glancing at Saihara. His face is blank. He doesn’t remove his hand from the doorframe.

Iruma stumbles through a shelf, knocking some metal junk onto the floor. Local resident stick-up-his-USB-port K1-B0 is trailing behind her. I arch an eyebrow, taking them both in. Iruma’s a robofucker, that’s been obvious since day one. K1-B0, of course, is too prim and proper to entertain that side of our resident slutbag, however. So I’m at a loss. “Did you two fuck?”

“Iruma was outfitting me with new features,” K1-B0 says.

“Like what? Real laser vision, so you’re no longer the lamest robot on the planet?”

He scowls. “No. For your information, I have enhancements to my--”

I wave my arm at him. “Sure, sure. Whatever, Pinocchio. You can show us all later. Iruma, you got my shit?”

She crosses her arms, smirking. “Sure. Your shit is child’s play compared to the adjustments I’ve given to Kiibo! I’ve outfitted him with some of the sickest tech to never hit store shelves. It’s all Iruma Miu exclusive science!”

“Great. Please _don’t_ tell me what you gave him, if it’s got you that excited. I don’t want to know. A prehensile dildo?”

K1-B0 shifts, beside her.

“Oh gosh.” I pale. “You two did fuck, didn’t you.”

“No!” they yelp.

“Just kidding! K1-B0 wouldn’t want to have a dick anyways, so.” I lightly kick Iruma’s worktable. “Where’s my _suuuuper_ special invention, Iruma? It better work, or I want my money back!”

“You didn’t pay anything,” she grouses. Her eyes flick to Saihara, a few paces behind me. “What’s he doing here?” she half-whispers, leaning in.

“He’s my servant!” I say. “Saihara’s doing all my dirty work, now. We got along _so well_ after breakfast, that he’s decided to join my organization!”

“N-no, I didn’t,” Saihara stammers weakly.

“Wow,” Iruma says. “I’m so sorry, dude.”

“I’m not his...!”

“Aaaanyways,” I butt in. “My shit. Here. Now. Chop-chop.”

She turns to her worktable, reaching over the other side. Jeez, Iruma, get longer skirts. Ugh, no one wants to see or smell that rank mess you got down there. “Calm your mosquito-bite tits, moron. I got you.”

And she does, admittedly. Because there it is. My beloved Bugvac.

“Hum. I thought it’d be more colorful,” I note, wrenching it from her and turning it over in my hands.

Iruma snorts. “Sorry, I took some liberties with the ‘rainbow paint’ instructions. Slate gray, for you.”

“You. Are so. Lame!”

“Slate gray is always in fashion! Your aesthetic may be nursery school crayon vomit, but I have a code of ethics I need to follow.”

I stick out my tongue, lips curling in disgust. Iruma is the _worst._

“Hey,” she says, smirking. “We can’t all have ageplay fetishes. Go stick crayons up your ass somewhere else. I don’t give a shit what you do with that thing, but I don’t want to deal with it anymore. Even with my executive decision, it’s an eyesore.”

“Oh, alright!” I say. “I’ll _buzz off_ , if you insist. Bzz, bzz! You’re right, though. I don’t think you could have made it any uglier!”

“Get out,” she groans.

“Goodbye, Iruma,” Saihara says, holding the door open wide. “Goodbye, Kiibo.”

“Goodbye, Saihara,” K1-B0 says, waving his arm at a perfect forty-five degree angle. “I hope you can escape from Ouma’s robophobic organization soon.”

“Saihara’s the head of my Robophobia Council!” I say.

“Byeeee, Saihara,” Iruma says. “Take away your rat baby, please! He’s making me sick.”

“Waaaaah! Iruma, I can’t believe after everything, you’d say that about--”

Saihara grabs me by my shoulder, fingers tight, and leads me to the door. My jaw clicks shut, teeth aching. As he turns me away, I catch sight of K1-B0’s wide eyes and Iruma’s raised eyebrows. Then, like the asshole she is, a grin slowly unfurls.

Mort-i-fying. Would be the word I’m feeling.

Saihara slams the door on Iruma’s laughter. He doesn’t take his hand off of me, the whole time. Neither of us says anything. He looks tense, but not upset. The hat is down low, so it’s hard to see his eyes.

I don’t ask him to let go, so he doesn’t. It’s not complicated. That’s all there is to it.

\- - -

“Bugs,” he says, grimacing.

“What, you hate bugs?”

“I... No, but bugs? You got her to make this for bugs?”

“Really small bugs,” I say, holding up a finger. “The smallest fucking bugs you’ve ever not seen.”

“Well, if they’re so small, we won’t know if it sucked up anything, anyways,” Saihara points out.

I shrug. “I was thinking about getting Gokuhara to use his special vision to see them. How’s he got such good vision, if he wears glasses? You think they’re fake glasses?”

“Huh. I don’t know.”

I lean down, patting the hull of the Bugvac. “It probably isn’t bugs, you know. Endless possibilities inside here! We could have sucked up aaanything at all. You want to take some guesses?”

Saihara cocks his head, frowning. “Um. I don’t think there’s anything inside there.”

“Psh! You’re so boring.”

“Well,” he says, “what do you think is inside?”

 _“I_ think there’s a invisible key inside here.” I shake the container, bending toward it. “Mmhm... Sounds like it! A key that’ll take us out of Domeland and send us back to Homeland. You agree?”

“Ah.” Saihara makes a strange face. “I don’t...know.”

“No?”

“I don’t _know._ I don’t know.”

I blink, trying to puzzle out why he’s looking at me like that. I got nothing. If only I were the Super High School Level Mindreader! Yeah, maybe not. Then I’d know all about Iruma’s gross fantasies. Gonna have to take a hard pass on that one.

“You want to get out of here?” he says.

“Hah? Who said that? I didn’t say that. You’ve got funny ideas, Saihara.” I collapse in a heap on the dirt, grass tickling my cheeks. Saihara stands above me, hesitant, before squatting and sitting down, folding his legs. “This place sucks,” I admit. “It does suck, though.”

“Yeah,” he says, shifting. “So. Ahm. What are you really trying to do with that thing?”

“Escape!” I yell, thinking about voyeurs covering their ears and grimacing.

“E-escape?”

“Nah, I’m planning to charge you investigators a monocoin a piece to use it. Then I’m going to blow all my cash on the slots, and get some great new toys to play with.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t push me on it. Boring.

“Just kidding. I’m gonna sell it to Toujou as an Ultimate Vaccuum fit for an Ultimate Maid. Orrrr maybe Iruma was right, and it’s a cock-pump that I’m gonna sell to Momota so he’s not stuck with his baby dick anymore.”

Saihara hums. He doesn’t say anything about it. Ah, that’s so lame. I hoped I’d get a rise out of him by insulting Momota, but he isn’t even looking flustered.

Is he even paying attention to me at all? The thought sends a flood of irritated heat through me. “Heeeey, Saihara,” I croon. I reach over and pat at the Bugvac. “I’ll sell it to you for half-price. Then you can investigate it to find out the truth. You’ll get the invisible key and do whatever you want with it. Who knows! It might unlock that seedy love hotel.”

He glances at me. “Mm, I don’t...think so. How much were you going to sell it for?”

“For you? Five-hundred monocoins. And not a quid more.”

“Quid?”

“It’s a currency, I think.”

“Five-hundred’s a lot.”

“Psh, talk about ungrateful! It’s half-price for you, remember? Imagine the agony of all the losers who have to pay full.”

“A thousand monocoins?”

“Uh-yup. There a problem with that, Mister?”

“Mister Detective?” he says.

My lips pull into a reflexive smile, to prevent what would have been a frown. “You want me to call you that or something? Weirdo.”

Saihara shrugs, eyes on me. Whatcha thinking about, Saihara? Thinking _I’m_ the weirdo, or what? Or are you just wondering about me? I hope you’re just wondering about me.

“You gonna stare at me all day or what?” I snap. “At this rate, Saihara, I’d think you’ve got eyes for me.”

I see his eyes widen, before he ducks his head and all I’m left with is hat. Why did I open my mouth, haha? I really don’t get me, sometimes.

“Joking!” I say. “Gosh, you are way too serious.”

“Ah,” he mumbles, fingers making aborted movements toward his hat. He sets both hands on his knees, thumbs twitching.

“Don’t let me bother you.” I lean my neck back, hair tugging against the ground. “I say all sorts of shit, all the time. You know, I’m a liar! It’s no good to pay me too much mind.”

“Mm...” A noncommittal response, but his shoulders do loosen a bit. “What time is it?” he says, squinting up at the sky. His pale hands loop around his ankles.

“Midnight-thirty,” I inform him, readjusting so I have a hand cushioning my tender, genius skull from the ground.

Saihara’s gaze is sharp, brighter than the sun, liquid yellow. It smarts, makes me feel like my skin is getting stripped off. Yikes. All over telling him the exact time of the day? He is so _weird_ today, looking at me all the time like that. I turn my eyes away from him, away, away, away toward the blue in the sky. Escape. I can feel his eyes on me, though. Appraising, considering. He says, slowly, “Why did you just lie? It’s obvious and it’s nothing worth lying about.”

What does he mean, ‘why?’ Does there need to be a ‘why?’ Who cares? Sometimes, there are no ‘whys’. Sometimes, shit happens because it happens.

“Ouma?” Saihara’s voice, pushing. Insistent.

“I can’t control it,” I murmur, staring at the fake sky. I shrug my shoulders against the compact dirt. “It’s kinda. Compulsive.”

“Compulsive,” he echoes blankly.

“Or maybe I just really fucking love lying. Who can say.”

“Mm.”

I sit up, smiling. “Anyways! Detection Boy, you should probably be off with your beloved Momota, shouldn’t you?”

He flushes, eyes grainy pebbles peering into my skull sockets. Ah. So awkward. Why? I dunno, haha. “I don’t need to be anywhere,” he says. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No,” I say flatly, “I don’t. It’s about twenty-past-eleven.”

He glances up at the sky, as if the placement of the sun’ll tell him how many minutes past eleven it is. “Okay,” he says. He doesn’t call me out again. “I should probably be going soon. But I’d like to see Gokuhara with you, whenever you do that.”

“You want to work for me? I guess I wasn’t lying to Iruma earlier when I said you were joining my secret organization.”

“I want to work _with_ you.”

“Wooow, Saihara. So bold! And here I thought you knew your place.”

He frowns, lips tight with some awful apology or other unnecessary thing he feels like he needs to say for whatever reason.

“Just kidding. I’m okay with that. We’re like partners in crime!” I say, and then I laugh a little too loud. Oh, it’s an ugly laugh. I sound like a braying horse. Ugh.

Saihara starts at that, gripping the brim of his hat, eyebrows sliding together. “Um. I-I’ll have to. Ah, pass on that.”

“Ohhh,” I breathe. “Right, that was insensitive of me. Considering you’re a legal law boy and all that. I’ll amend it, how’s that sound?”

“Amend--?”

“Partners in not-crime.” I grin cheekily. “That better?”

Saihara blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “Maybe just partners,” he settles on.

“Partners!” I roll my neck on my shoulders. “That works. Though it’s a bit ambiguous, don’t you think? We could be any kind of partners.”

“We know what kind of partners we are,” he says, clasping his hands over his knees.

“Truuue! That’s true.”

Saihara gets an uncomfortable expression, cheeks hollow. “Ah, Ouma. About earlier. When you said I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Mmmmmm...”

“I just. I. Ah, well. I kind of am, I’m not going to... I’m not going to lie about that. But it’s not for the reasons you think. Or-- Well, Momota’s... He...” Stutter, stutter, stutter. Babble, babble. Saihara clears his throat. “I’m not suspicious of you, Ouma. I want to help you. I want to know what you’re working on.”

“Oh, I see. Trying to get me to spill my secrets, eh? You haven’t gotten to that level on my friendship quest. Sorry, Saihara.”

He shakes his head. “I understand why you don’t trust me. I-I wouldn’t trust me, either.”

“Duh! You’re a cop!”

“And I just. I want you to know that. Even if you don’t trust me, that’s okay. I don’t mind. I...understand.”

I don’t really know what to say to that. I just look at him, curious. It’s a curious thing to say, after all. And he’s wearing a curious expression. I’m not sure what to make of it. He reaches up, arm shaky, fingers around the brim of his hat. He’s not pulling it down though. It slips up, revealing a few centimeters of frazzled dark hair.

“You don’t have to take your hat off,” I say. “That’s your business.”

“Ah.” His hand slips from the brim, his face flushing. He looks he’s just stepped back from the ledge of a rooftop. “Thanks...”

I roll my eyes. “Why thank me? Who cares? You can take off or keep on your hat whenever you freakin’ want. Making yourself uncomfortable isn’t going to make me trust you more, bozo. You do what you want.”

“I want to take it off,” he mumbles, “but I’m. Ah. ...Nervous?”

I give him a quick side-eye, not long enough to seem scrutinizing to him, but long enough for me to take stock of his body language. He’s grabbing his arm, trying to seem casual about it. Saihara is withdrawn. He seems ashamed. “Right,” I say. “The hat-hair must be insane.”

“Ah.” A huff of air.

I cock my head, a small frown tugging at my face. Another huff of air. I look at him openly. His eyes are wet, lips quirked.

He’s laughing, I realize.

\- - -

“Heeeey, Momota!”

He stands stock still in front of his dorm room, hand on his doorknob. “What,” he groans, not turning around.

“Huh? I can’t talk to one of my favorite non-practicing astronauts? Huh, huh? Momota, buddy, you’re gonna hurt my feelings with this tsundere act!”

He turns around. Out of reflex, I take a little step back. He looks like shit. He’s pale, sweaty, lips thin and papery. He looks like he just puked. He looks _awful._

“Um,” I start, finding my bearings quickly. Momota looking like shit isn’t my concern. He probably just talked to Shinguuji about occult shit and got freaked out again. Maybe Shinguuji approached him about joining their freak union, or asked him to participate in his shitty fourth floor séance. Momota’s way too normie for that shit. I almost feel bad for Shinguuji, if that did happen, since Momota is too annoying even for someone like him. (Almost.) “No need to look so down, Momota! It’s me, your favorite person, here to cheer you up!”

“Just tell me what you want,” he says. His voice is steady, but raw.

I tap my lips, humming. “Want? Hum. Just want to chat about suspicious persons Saihara should be keeping an eye on.”

He gives me a long look. “Are you talking about you or?”

“I don’t know!” I chirp. “I thought maybe you could tell me. I _maaay_ have heard some things through the grapevine. Some fruits of grape, if you will. By which I mean, ‘information.’”

“What are you even talking about,” Momota says.

“Tch! Like you’d ever understand the inner workings of my big brain.”

He gives me a withering look.

“You guys got a list?” I ask, dropping my face. With Momota, it never really matters what faces I swap in and out, real or fake. Momota preemptively judges every face and word as a lie. As much as I can’t stand him, it makes certain things a lot less tiresome.

“A list?”

“Of people, you know. Do you got a list of trustworthy people versus untrustworthy? You looking for a rat in our midsts? What’s going on?”

Momota rubs his face. “Even if we did,” he says, _“why_ would I tell you? You’re clearly on the untrustworthy list!”

“Maybe I have information we could pool together! Or maybe I don’t! Maybe I want to infiltrate your little good guys group and tear it apart from the inside out.”

“You’re just wasting my time. Look, I’ve _really_ got to go, okay, so--”

“The Earth is flat!” I squawk.

Momota rolls his eyes.

“Every person in my ten-thousand strong organization believes that the Earth is flat. We even proselytize about it to the unaware public. Space isn’t real, either. It’s literally just a ceiling, up there, my guy.”

“I’m going to ignore you, starting now,” he says flatly.

“Wait!” I say.

His back is to me, but he doesn’t turn his doorknob. So much for ignoring me.

“Ah. Ha.” I swing onto my heels.

“Just spit it out.” He kicks at the ground. “Is it just about Saihara? Listen, he’s hanging out with you because you’re weird. Someone needs to keep tabs on you. It’s not a secret, okay?”

“I’m weird,” I repeat blankly.

“Ugh, don’t-- I don’t. _Whatever.”_ He huffs, waving his hand in the air. “You’re up to something. You’re weird, and he’s being weird _about_ you. And now you’re both together, lying in the courtyard like buddies. That’s weird, too.”

“Saihara can choose who he hangs out with,” I say, skipping in place. “He doesn’t need your permission, Mommy.”

“Whatever. I can worry about him if I want. He’s my friend,” he says. “Not that you would fucking understand. You’re so... I don’t even want to go there. I don’t get you at all.”

I cackle.

Momota gives a ragged breath. He looks ancient. “Anyways. You were going to say something.”

“Was I?”

“Uh, yeah? You said ‘wait.’”

“Oh.” I smile at the back of his head. “Nah, I was just issuing you a command. Which you obeyed.”

Momota stiffens, before opening his door without another word. I let him go, listening to the lock click into place, rocking on my heels and whistling.

\- - -

“I’ve got you,” Saihara breathes, hot air wet against my neck. He could rip my mask off, right now, reveal me to the whole world. But he doesn’t. His hand is still, fingers digging into my shoulder.

“Got me!” I confirm. “Fair and square. So what are you gonna do, Mister Detective?”

“I...” His brow furrows. (I shouldn’t be able to see his face at this angle, but fuck it. It’s a fantasy.)

“Going to rough me up? Going to make me spill all my secrets?”

“No,” he says, voice hushed, but firm. “I won’t do that.”

“I’m at your mercy!” I point out brightly. “You could beat me bloody! Or not bloody! Leave me with some bruises to remember you by!” Bruises I can press my fingers into and remember that you left them there, that you touched me.

“I won’t do that,” he says, eyes hard but warm. I can think of another thing that could be hard but warm, if you feel me. Gosh, I just crack myself up sometimes. Har har har. “And you don’t need to ask for things like that.”

“Asking? Me? Moi? Mich, the great Phantom Thief? I don’t _ask_ for anything. I take! I take and take and things are gone, baby. That’s me!”

“I worry about you,” Saihara says, fingers insistent around my bicep.

“Ah ha...” I wheeze, stomach fluttering. I feel hollow and awesome. He’s so close to me.

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “you’re all I think about.”

I stare at my ceiling, haunted. I feel hollow and strange. The sound of my own breath is setting me off, prickling my nerves. That went places I didn’t want it to go. That went places it shouldn’t _ever_ go.

Physical fantasy is one thing. Dialogue like that is another thing, entirely.

I roll over in my bed, feeling sick. There’s a physical queasiness, and then a whole other miasma wobbling around my brain like a drunken tourist. I’m really despicable, huh? Saihara wouldn’t really ever do or say any of the things he says in my stupid, gross dreams. I’m imagining a person who doesn’t exist, and I’m using the image of a real person to do that.

It’s bad. It’s bad, the stuff I want. There’s a part of me, snapping, vile, hateful, that wants Saihara to only ever look at me. There’s a part of me that would gladly separate him from all of his lame friends. There’s a part of me that would strangle him to get his full attention. It’s gross. I close my eyes, trying to get a grip on myself.

 _You’re just lonely,_ my brain supplies. _Lonely people want all kinds of crazy things._

Well, how about you shut the fuck up? If you don’t have solutions, you can see yourself to the door. Don’t let it hit your ass on the way out.

...

The room is so quiet. I turn onto my stomach and I breathe as loudly as I can without hyperventilating, until it’s roaring in my ears.

\- - -

Saihara doesn’t look at me once, during dinner. He doesn’t even turn his head toward my general direction. Momota is the closest to me again, tonight, droning about potential extraterrestrial life to Amami. He looks better than he did when I talked to him, at least. Probably was occult shit or something else that doesn’t matter. I grit my teeth discreetly, hand tight around the corner of the table until my palm forms a deep groove. When I pull away to pick up my drink, my skin’s a deep, mottled red.

I decide to eat dinner, though. Omurice. Just to be safe, just in case Saihara were to notice and decide to come visit me. Because I don’t want that. I’ve had total Saihara burnout at this point, thanks. If he looks at me one more time, I’ll hurl all over this table! So it’s a good thing that he doesn’t even show more than his profile to me, eyes trained on Akamatsu smiling and talking about something stupid and brain-numbingly wholesome. Probably. That’s generally what Akamatsu talks about. Just a bunch of bullshit about bonding together, trusting each other, and getting out through the power of friendship or some shit.

I might be the group’s self-proclaimed liar extraordinaire, but Akamatsu is the biggest liar here. She’s the worst type of liar too--she doesn’t even realize she’s lying. She’s totally delusional. She thinks she’s speaking truth, when every other syllable from her mouth is some sloppy, sappy lie. They’re not creative, they’re not inspiring, and they’re not new. They’re the same tired lies a million sad sacks have spewed before her.

She has no fucking clue at all. It’s nauseating.

Right. I lean over my plate. Momota’s voice curls around my brain stem, overbearing and annoying. No one here seems to understand what genre we’re occupying. This isn’t a friendship-powered shounen and it isn’t a quirky high school romance.

I stare at the ketchup on my plate. I smush it over the Omurice until it’s a watery film. I start crushing the omelette into the plate until the rice splits out the sides and the ketchup runs off of it, dripping onto the plate. I imagine it spilling off the table, pooling around my shoes.

Mm. I’m really not hungry, anymore. I don’t care if Saihara shows up at my door or not. I just won’t answer. Simple. Not that he’ll even come. I stand up, my chair clattering behind me. Momota and Amami raise their heads, eyes on me. They hate me, haha. They must. I would hate me, if I were them. I could engineer events that would force them to hate me. Then, at least, I would always know exactly where I stand with people.

Momota opens his mouth, eyebrows scrunching together. I leave before I have to hear whatever useless garbage is going to tumble out of his lips.

\- - -

I stare at my ceiling. My stomach is empty and awful. I stare at my ceiling. I feel like a hollow eggshell. Just tired. That’s all. I don’t exactly sleep well at night. I stare at my ceiling. Just tired. Just tired.

That’s all. Really. I don’t want to think right now, okay? That’s all.

\- - -

Curfew chimes on the monitor. Not ten minutes later, there’s a faint knock on the door. Saihara, my brain yelps before I can wrangle it into submission.

“Yoohoo,” I sing, voice catching along rough edges like I’ve been sleeping for a week. “Four steps back, please. Hands up!” I hear shuffling on the other end, four steps. Gosh, it probably _is_ Saihara.

When I open the door, yup. It’s Saihara. Four steps back and his hands up. It’s a comical sight, definitely. I really should ask for a handstand, but I don’t feel like Saihara has the dexterity to pull that off without falling over the railing.

“Well, lookie here,” I say, lips unfurling into a shit-eating grin I don’t need to coax out. I slither out from between the crack in my door and slam it shut. “If it isn’t lovely Saihara, here before my door for the _second_ night in a row. You got more oblations for the Supreme Leader?”

“Oh, ah, no, sorry.” He shifts, blinking. He seems nervous. Well, Saihara often seems nervous, but you know. “Are you busy?”

“Me? Uh, only _always.”_ My back thuds against my door as I cross my legs. “But maybe I can make time for Saihara, if it’s important enough. I’m always open to helping my favorite detective! You know how much I love abiding by the law and being a conscientious citizen.”

“Right, sure. I was just. Wondering,” he stammers, “if you’d like to go outside with me.”

I let out a low whistle. “Wrow. You’re finally dumping that loser Momota for me? About time you developed some taste.”

“Ah. No.” He shakes his head, frowning. His eyes drift down the stairs. “Momota’s too busy to train, tonight. That’s all.”

Oh. Well, that’s... That makes me sound like I’m a second-string friend, or something. That kind of makes me feel really lousy. I give a light laugh. “So you thought you’d train with me? You think you’d be able to keep up with the physical prowess of the great Ouma Kokichi? Hate to burst your bubble, but I could lift ten of you without breaking a sweat.”

“I doubt that,” Saihara says, a small smile ghosting his lips. Hurk. My heart feels gross. Haha. “But no, I just wanted to get some air. And talk, maybe? It’s nice outside, at night, but sometimes I feel like it’s too quiet.”

Too quiet. Well, duh. There’s no bugs, no animals, no nothing. Just you, me, and the voyeurs at home. How romantic. “Why not ask your boo, Piano Babe?” The taste of hokey protagonist Akamatsu’s name is too sour on my tongue to say.

Saihara blinks. His eyes zero in on my face immediately. I freeze up, a total amateur move, but only for half a second or so. Then I’m loosey-goosey, lax and in control. I grin at him, batting my eyes. I was just teasing, after all. I’ve got nothing to hide, either way. He doesn’t need to give me that searching look. For once, I’ve been totally honest. It’s a gross feeling, too! Being honest. That’s why I feel so clammy, spine shivering under my skin. “I asked you,” he says, voice unreadable. “Not her.”

“So you did!” I chirp. “Haha.”

“Are you going to come outside with me, or not?”

I bounce off the door, steadying my feet on the tile. “Sure! I’ll go out with you. We can hunt for more ‘bugs.’ Maybe the darkness’ll make it easier to see.”

“Probably not,” he says, face settling back into his classic range of discomforted expressions. He turns away and starts walking down the stairs.

I skip down after him. “You wanna talk about our _secret project_ , partner?”

“Oh. Um, is there anything to say about it?”

“No,” I admit, sliding past him as he opens the door. “I need to get Gokuhara to look at it with his _special eyes_ before we’ve got any direction. Then I can sell it per use to your chump friends!”

  
“Right.” He walks past me with smooth steps and I fall in line behind him again. “That makes sense. We should probably do that tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I repeat.

“Yeah? Tomorrow. If that’s, you know, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, maybe I can squeeze out some time for you in my schedule.” I quicken my steps to keep pace with him. Saihara and his long legs. Ugh.

“You seemed upset, tonight,” he says.

Just like that. Bam. Haha, what the fuck?

“Me?” I screech, throat dry. I laugh and try to wet my throat at the same time. It results in a super obnoxious hiccuping sound. It’s a funny noise, so I catalog it. Definitely has potential to be added to the repertoire. “Was Saihara _worried_ about me?”

“Yes,” he says, frowning.

My legs lock up and I have to stop walking, or I’ll trip all over my face and make a super embarrassing wipe out on the concrete. (His questing eyes, fingers insistent around my bicep, leaning forward, mouth open, my heart throat-fucking me.) Saihara stops walking too, looking back at me, eyebrows sliding into his bangs. “Ah,” I say, composing myself. I feel so, so _angry_ right now, angry enough to shove him in the dirt and spit on his face. I can manage a neutral face though, steady tone. Easy body language, or easy enough. I don’t clench my fists. I don’t grit my teeth. “Don’t lie to me, Saihara.”

He frowns deeper. “I’m not lying? Ouma, you’re my friend.”

I might want to get on top of him, in the dirt, and start screaming in his face. Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! You’re supposed to be the one person here who’s _not_ full of bullshit! You’re not a dream person or a robot or a TV character, you’re supposed to be _real!_

Saihara turns around fully, fiddling with his hands. He bites his lip. He’s looking at me, though, looking me in the eye. “I think we can just sit down here. If you want.”

“Do I ever,” I drawl, flopping onto the dirt by the sidewalk. I watch Saihara walk over and fold his limbs up delicately as he squats and then sits. It’s a repeat of earlier today. Woohoo. The same tired bullshit. Maybe the voyeurs at home’ll get so sick of our dynamic that they’ll have to kill one of us off. Most likely me. It’d serve as a good character development arc for Saihara. I hum, half a few notes of nonsense, wiggling my legs.

“What’s bothering you?” he says. Wow, this boy _cannot_ take a hint, huh?

“Nothing.”

“Ouma, you don’t need to pretend nothing’s wrong. I... We’re all pretty upset, being stuck here. There’s nothing wrong with having problems.”

How fucking presumptuous. As if he has any idea what’s wrong with me. Or why I’d be upset. _Assuming_ I’m upset at all. What the fuck.

“You know,” I say lightly, “you don’t gotta say such hokey bullshit to me. Actually, you’ve _got_ to be honest with someone like me. I’m a pretty good judge of truth and lies.”

“I’m not _lying_. If you think I’m wrong or I’m...I’m dumb, or whatever, that’s fine. But I’m not lying.”

  
I let out a loud yawn. “Yikes, you’re so boring! I can’t stand you. Want to skedaddle before I decide to put you on my naughty list? I’ll have you shipped off to Siberia, once this is all over. That’s where everyone who inconveniences me goes.”

Saihara is above me now. Woah! Personal space, please, haha. “Ouma, I want to be your friend.”

“Ewwww!” I shriek.

“Ouma,” he murmurs, leaning down toward me.

I can feel his breath. Like, it’s warm and faintly brushing against the skin of my cheek. Saihara’s breath. From his mouth.

“I really, _really_ hate liars,” I choke out.

“I...” Saihara’s eyes search my face, but they’re not analytical, they’re something else. There’s a strange fear in them. “I know.”

I flop onto my back, escaping his invasion of my personal bubble. I can breathe again. Hallelujah, praise whatever ghosts or goblins that run the world. Not that we’ll be finding anything like that here. There aren’t even bugs. “I forgive you,” I mumble, feeling a little dizzy. I might throw up.

“Forgive me?”

“For lying. It happens. I get it. You meant well.”

“I...wasn’t...” Saihara trails off, before giving a long sigh. He peers over me, in the corner of my wavering vision. A dark figure framing a dark sky. Midnight on midnight, hues of Prussian blue mixing and melding. “Okay. Thank you?”

“There are good lies, after all,” I continue. I know I’m talking for talking’s sake, talking more for me than for him, but it all just spills out, like my guts squished on a table. Saihara could kill me, and get out of here. I could kill Saihara. Our peace is such fragile peace. All it takes is one person to stop cooperating. That’s it. That’s all. “Lies run the world, after all. So there are some really good, important lies.”

“Lies don’t erase the truth,” Saihara says.

“But don’t you think they can become the truth?” I turn my neck, looking at his amber eyes. Specks of moon in the dead sky.

“Um. ...Maybe?”

“Well, that _is_ the truth. Sometimes lies become true. All belief is predicated on lies. It’s all pretense, especially social stuff. All it takes is one person to stop believing in the lie, and everything goes to shit. Then reality falls out, and we’re stuck with-- I dunno. We’re stuck with a world that doesn’t make sense, anymore.”

“Hm.”

“Like laws,” I say, staring at his eyes. They don’t look like eyes anymore, and that lets me look at them all I want. “You know, legal laws. Those laws aren’t physical. There’s no truth that dictates that we can’t kill. But we don’t, because there’s a lie that tells us we can’t. There’s a lie that tells us we shouldn’t. There’s a lie that tells us we wouldn’t do it.”

The moon bits wane into slivers.

“We lie to ourselves, everyday, to seem better than we are. And eventually, maybe, we become better than we were. All because of lies. Maybe we become people who wouldn’t kill, or can’t kill, or whatever, just because of those lies. But it’s super fucking fragile, you know? Because all it takes is one person to...stop, and then everyone’s lie is broken. And we’re back where we started, in the dark.” My fingers trail through the grass, the dirt too compact for real dirt. It isn’t dirt, and it isn’t clay. It’s something else. I think about my unfamiliar friends, fuzzy and faceless on the edges of my memory. Too saccharine to be safe. I’m not the kind of person who forms bonds like that. “We’ve got to pretend, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got to pretend to ourselves. When we lie to ourselves, we should be honest about it.” Honest. A bitter, warped word on my tongue. Am I honest with myself? Of course. Of course I am. “Because...it’s not a bad thing, to lie to ourselves. Or to others. Most of the time, I think lies are a good thing, even if I don’t like them. They make life easier for everyone. They make society possible. Otherwise, we’d just be a bunch of savages smashing each other’s heads in with rocks.”

The moon blinks out of existence. I close my eyes, readjusting my neck. When I open them again, I’m seeing the sky. Or what amounts to our sky. “Lies can bring people more peace than the truth,” I murmur. “Lies can keep people living, where the truth can kill. You know, there’s historical instances of lies saving people’s lives? Giving them the will to survive. Those are good lies. Lies can be acts of compassion. I don’t get the stigma, really.” Saccharine and safe, promises that were never made but I want to be kept. Ten seats at a table, flat soda pop and bad takeout. Too good to be true, but isn’t that the case with all the best things in life?

There’s no wind, here. No animals. No birds. No bugs. It’s so quiet. So quiet, I can hear my own heart. That’s real, I think. I think so, at least. I’m never sure. The stars wink down on us, cold and off-white.

“Fake smiles are the kindest gestures on this Earth,” I say. The constellations are different, Gokuhara had said. The daytime sky isn’t the right shade of blue, either. I’ve noticed that. It’s one hexadecimal off. This world isn’t real, but they still bothered to install a wrong sky, with wrong constellations. Ten people who give a shit about me. Everything is wrong, but it’s had so much effort put in. I really don’t get it at all. “A fake smile tells someone that you care about them enough to lie.”

Maybe I hate it here, but maybe I don’t want to leave. Maybe I’m afraid of what waits for me, outside. Maybe I’m afraid of disappointment. Maybe I’m afraid of nothing. But which is worse? Leaving people behind, or having nothing to come home to? At this point, I’m honestly not sure. The sky’s wrong, and so are my friends’ names. They don’t taste right on my tongue. My muscle memory doesn’t respond to them at all. I repeat them until my lips are numb, every night, hoping that they stick to me forever, hoping that they start to feel familiar and threadbare, but they’re such oily names. I love them, but they’re slippery and devious. I love them, though. I love them. I say them, every night.

“I never thought of it like that,” Saihara says, after a moment.

That’s all he says. That’s it. That he never thought about it that way, the way that I just said. He didn’t disagree with me. He didn’t argue with me. I close my eyes, humming half a bar of a song I don’t know. Maybe I knew it in my other life, the life before this place. A life that’s completely uncertain, now. I have no idea who any of us are, not really. I just know what we’re supposed to be. It pisses me off.

I sort of wish Saihara had disagreed with me. But I’m grateful he didn’t. In this moment, I almost feel understood.


	3. okay.

The whiteboard I dragged out of the storage room is mocking my obvious lack of progress. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself, after all. Just Ouma Kokichi and his usual gross antics. I feel like I was more productive in the first week here than I’ve been in all the time after. It’s not Saihara’s fault, either, or Gokuhara’s or Iruma’s or Toujou’s or anyone here. It’s entirely mine.

What happened to the Kokichi who managed to catch the jiggle in K1-B0’s antenna thing, extrapolate some points of inference, and hypothesize that we’re in the world’s worst reality TV gig in the history of the world? I dunno. I guess he got horny for Saihara looking at him. Not much besides that. Well, a little much, but not _a lot_ much more.

Alone-time has devolved from mostly theory-crafting to mostly imagining Saihara pushing me against various walls and tables. Not in a gross way, Iruma. (Maybe a little bit of a gross way. I’m human, okay?) He pushes me down to interrogate me about the whereabouts of various priceless artifacts I’ve stolen and I scramble out of his grip before he can get whatever he wants.

And like I’ve established, this is a bad thing. It isn’t productive at all. And I’m imagining a Saihara who isn’t Saihara at all. A Saihara who says and does things the real Saihara wouldn’t ever dream of. It’s a really slimy thing to do. This thought has encroached more space in my brain, the more time I’ve spent with Saihara over the last few days. That it's wrong. It's obviously wrong. 

But it feels less bad as long as it’s on-message. Mister Detective and the Phantom Thief. I can pretend they’re separate characters, because they basically are. It’s like...friend fiction. Shit. No, scratch that. That’s awful. Nah. They’re fictional entities, okay? All resemblances to persons living or dead is _purely_ coincidental.

Set the scene. Nighttime. Someplace that is not Shitty Reality TV Dome.

“Alright, I agreed to meet with you,” Mister Detective says. Away from the streetlights, he’s a dark shadow against the darker tapestry of night.

~~I~~ The Phantom Thief swings ~~my~~ his legs out from his place on the park fountain. They’re in a park, by the way. It’s dark as shit, but they can still see each other. Maybe they’re both wearing night vision goggles? Maybe they’re both wearing glow-in-the-dark paint. I dunno. Does it matter? It’s _cinematic._

“Right, you sure did!” the Phantom Thief cackles, kicking out.

“We don’t need to play games,” Mister Detective says. “You offered a temporary truce, said it was important. I’m assuming it has to do with your latest heist. So tell me about it, if you’re going to. If not, I’ll have to leave.”

“Boo! You’re no fun at all.”

He gives him a long, searching look. “Clearly I am ‘fun.’” He sounds unimpressed. “...Since you continue to bother with me.”

~~I don’t~~ The Phantom Thief lets out a loud laugh, unaffected. “You caught me! You’re _suuuper_ interesting, actually. I’m, like, obsessed with you! And, since I like you so much, I thought I’d give you a hint about my next target.”

“Your next target,” he repeats, trying not to look alarmed and failing. ~~I’ve really~~ The Phantom Thief has cracked through his distant, detective exterior and managed to nestle inside of his warm, squishy person insides. (Not in a gross way, not in a gross way, oh man, that was _not_ a vore reference, oh shit.)

That was such a bad line. See, this is why I don’t narrate this shit.

**DETECTIVE:** What do you mean?

**THIEF:** Nishishi, you’ll have to try harder than that to find out! ;)

**DETECTIVE:** I thought you were going to tell me. Isn’t that why you agreed to meet? You just said as much.

**THIEF:** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That’s bad, too. Huh. Whatever. Whatever, no one else is ever going to hear about this besides me. Who gives a shit if it’s cringey as hell? Whatever.

Mister Detective shakes out his pant-legs, clearing his throat, trying to give some air of control over the situation. He has none, though. The Phantom Thief is in control. He’s always been in control. He can leave whenever he wants. Mister Detective can’t do anything to him that I don’t want him to do to me. So he says to the detective, curling his lips, “I’d like it if you at least guessed. Can’t you guess for me, Mister Detective?”

He opens his mouth before closing it. Then he starts, “What...am I guessing about? What are the parameters?”

The Phantom Thief chortles, but it sounds like a wheezy whinny. “Taking this very seriously, you are!” (Why did he just use Yoda speak? If I could edit this, I’d cut that out, but nope, this is live. Keep the camera rolling, I guess.) The thief leans forward, offering a wolfish smile. “Guess what I’m trying to steal.”

Mister Detective cocks his head, pursing his lips the way he always does when he’s listening to a problem he’s trying to solve, like when stupid fucking Akamatsu talks to him at the dining hall about the barbed wire on the damn windows. “Are you offering any details?” he asks, after a moment.

The thief frowns, a little put out. “Why would I do that? You gonna pay me some hint coins, Professor?”

I’m wasting so much time, lying around thinking about stupid shit like this. I’m wasting time I don’t have. I wonder if there’s a camera, right now, zoomed in on my zoning out. Must be very stimulating to watch glazed eyes staring at a ceiling. Wow, haha, I’m so pathetic.

“No,” Mister Detective says. “But if you’re so dogged in your pursuit of my attention, I have to wonder if it has to do with my agency.”

“If anyone is doing the pursuing,” the Phantom Thief points out, “it would definitely be you.”

He nods, a small smile quirking on his lips. “That’s how you’ve attempted to orchestrate it.”

Ah...?

Ah ha. That’s so fucking stupid. Can we rewrite that part? Why can’t he ever just want me? Why can’t I just engineer a situation where it’s plausible that _he_ wants _me?_

Hey, what’s it say about me, that I can’t even get my fantasies to do what I want?

\- - -

“Get up, loser. We’re looking for Gokuhara.”

Saihara looks up from his breakfast, offering slow blinks and no words.

Akamatsu, sitting next to him, gives me a searching glance. She turns her attention back to her boring miso soup. Thanks for the privacy, babe!

“We’re going,” I inform him. “If you’re gonna be my assistant, you gotta be flexible. The time is nigh.”

He hums, pushing his plate away from him. He glances at Toujou, who inclines her head. Yeck, she’s sitting with the other Antisocial Bummer Club residents again. Birds of a feather and all that, I guess. Shinguuji and Hoshi are locked in some conversation about cats in Egyptian mythology. Hoshi would probably be less depressed if he started hanging out with better people. AKA literally anyone besides Toujou and Shinguuji.

“You guys should form a union,” I say, standing on my tiptoes to throw my voice.

Shinguuji inclines his head, blinking slowly. Hoshi doesn’t react.

Lame.

Whatever.

“Come on, my cherished Saihara. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Ah... What?”

“Let’s _goooo,_ you dummy! Come on!”

Akamatsu looks at me, offering a tepid smile. “Where are you going, Ouma?”

I let out a laugh, batting my eyes. “It’s a secret, sweet Akamatsu! You’d have to join my organization, in order to get the details.” Not that I’d let hokey Akamatsu into my organization of dubious standing. Not in a million, quadrillion years. Not even in the face of the imminent heat death of the universe. N-e-v-e-r.

She turns her gaze toward Saihara. He flushes, lips screwing into a frown. “He-he’s joking. I’m not... I mean-- I’m not in his. I’m not in his organization.”

“Saihara’s so embarrassed of being with me,” I sniffle.

“That’s not-- I just--” He’s really scrambling now. He looks so weird, all wound up and tense.

“Saihara’s on a mission,” Momota says, grinning over the table with his newly filled plate in his hand and the ever-maternal Harukawa leering a meter behind his elbow.

“Momota...” Saihara says weakly.

“Don’t worry about it, Akamatsu,” Momota continues. “Saihara’s got it all under control.”

Saihara doesn’t look like he has anything under control at the moment, tugging on his hat with an ill expression. He’s practically vibrating. I hold in a chortle, but just barely. This dining hall looks like a scene out of a European Renaissance painting, sometimes, with all the emotional chaos that goes on.

“They’re fuckin’!” Iruma belts, destroying whatever tension was building under our resident detective’s skin. He deflates into his chair.

“Iruma!” Akamatsu yells reflexively, frowning.

“Saihara would never accept my tentacle dick,” I say, slapping my hands wetly on the table. Ew, my palms are sweaty. “Unlike someone, he’s not an ecchi pervert. This is a purely platonic situation!” I shoot Momota a jovial look. Not that it matters. It never matters with Momota. “He’s gotta keep tabs on the powerful Supreme Leader! I don’t mind at all. I _looove_ babysitters. I can’t believe you didn’t put Mommy Harukawa on me, instead!”

Harukawa’s expression darkens, lips curling. Time for her classic line! Let’s hear that nurturing catchphrase, lovely lady!

“Let’s go,” Saihara says, standing up. His chair skitters across the floor, squealing loudly. He’s out the door before I can come up with a suitable response.

The whole room is quiet.

No death threats or cat mythology to be heard.

“Um.” I give out a laugh that’s half an octave too shrill. “Welp, that’s that, I guess. Bye!”

No response. I accidentally catch Momota’s eyes. Awkward. I reflexively stick out my tongue, earning a scowl.

Worth it. I trounce after Saihara, high off of that small victory. I always take what I can get.

\- - -

“I didn’t see him on my way to the dining hall, earlier.”

“Mm... Me neither." I tap my chin. “And he’s not in his room, so he’s definitely up. You think he’s in his lab?”

“We could check. But I’ve never known Gokuhara to skip breakfast.”

I trail after Saihara’s brisk footsteps. He’s really rigid, practically goose-stepping like a military man.

“Ooh, you’re really on edge.”

Saihara flinches, twisting his shoulder away from me. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay!” I smile, eying him. “I know my virtuous Saihara would never lie to me.”

He makes a pained face. Right. Might want to dial back the platitudes, Kokichi, you moron.

“I _totally_ believe my stinky Saihara,” slips out of my mouth, which isn’t much better.

Judging by his new, exciting expression, it’s much worse. Huh.

Oops. Well, then. Moving on.

“Hey, I got an idea!” I say, pursing my lips. “We could play rock-paper-scissors! Or you could guess what hand I put a coin in! Something like that to make this less boring.”

Saihara side-eyes me. “Are you sure you’re not the Ultimate Magician?”

“Maybe I am! We only have an Ultimate _Mage_ here, after all. For all you know, that could be my _real_ talent. I am a liar, so who knows my true nature for certain?”

Saihara reaches out and rattles Gokuhara’s lab door. Locked? Only one lab has a lock to my knowledge, and that’s Yonaga’s. Ah-- No, false alarm. The door’s just a bit jammed. Must be from Gokuhara’s burly arms slamming it so much. It swings open.

To a dark room, filled with ominous chirping.

“I don’t think he’s in there,” I say, voice steady. Or as steady as I can make it. If I listen closely enough, I can hear millions of little legs scratching against glass.

“Gokuhara?” Saihara calls out. No response. Welp. But before I can walk away, Saihara’s hand is tightly clenching the fabric of my shirt. Woah, there! A little handsy, friend. ~~Not that I mind, but, like~~ “We should go in, just to check.”

“Mm. Hm. Yeah, well how about you do that, and I stand watch?”

He shoots me a look, before extricating his hand from my shirt and marching into the insect cave. This lasts about thirty seconds. Thirty-two seconds, exactly. I counted. Had nothing else to do, after all.

Saihara emerges with a grimace, flapping his hand at me. “He’s not there.”

“I’m surprised the man-eating dragonflies didn’t get you.”

He blanches for a moment, before shaking his head. “Let’s just forget about whatever’s in that room. He isn’t there. And he wasn’t in the dining room or his room. So that’s three locations to cross off.”

“For now. He could have gone to either of the other two while we were walking here,” I point out, rubbing the front of my stupid shirt.

“Maybe we should wait around a location,” he says. “Ah. N-not his lab, though. Just because.”

“Maybe,” I echo. Yeah, no, not the lab. Ugh. “We could hang out in Saihara’s bedroom.”

“We could. But we might miss him, then.” He cocks his head, starting to walk. I fall in step. “Is your room closer to his? I can’t remember.”

“Nuh uh uh. Nobody’s going in my room,” I drawl. “It’s _sooo_ messy, you’ll trip over your clumsy feet and snap your neck.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re very strange about your room.”

I give him a cold look, shoulders loose and easy. “What’s that supposed to mean? Sorry, buddy, I don’t understand the dumb words coming out of your stinky mouth.”

“W-well, I didn’t. I just mean. You don’t want me seeing what’s inside.”

“Tch. If Saihara were to see the state of my room, I’d be _sooo_ embarrassed! I would just die of shame.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Is it?”

“It is. You always tell super basic lies about things when you want people to drop a subject.”

“Basic?” I let out a choked sound, to appear offended. And I am, a little. “M-my lies are...high caliber, Saihara. Every lie I deliver is a five-star restaurant filet mignon.”

“Believable lies, then. Not basic,” he amends. “But you also lie about nonsense. You tell obvious lies about things that don’t matter. And there are a few options about why, I know. We discussed this.” I cringe, stomach dropping at that memory. Lame. Lame. Lame as shit, forget about it. “But honestly, I think it all centers around one thing.”

“The fact that I can’t let anyone know about my super secret evil plans? Like, duh. No shit. I’m convoluted by necessity, Detective Saihara. Hey, can we just have a normal conversation? That cool with you? Hey, Saihara, how’s the weather outside? Enjoying the lack of breeze and bugs? Boy, I sure am.”

“You’d be a good partner,” he says firmly, clenching his fists, staring ahead. Like he’s talking more to himself than me.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? We’re already ‘partners.’

But then he smiles at me. And all my irritation melts from me like snow slopping off a sunlit roof. Saihara really has a genuine smile. Lopsided, only half his teeth peeking out, it’s honestly pretty cute. (Cute? What am I, a twelve-year-old girl? I’m not talking about Hello Kitty; I’m talking about a stinky teen boy glued to a baseball cap. He doesn’t even _play_ baseball. Pull yourself together, Kokichi. Seriously.)

“Ha,” I wheeze, trying to keep my color under control. He’s not smiling _at_ me, he’s smiling about something else. Whatever the hell he’s thinking about. Probably. Anyways. Ahem.

“It’s weird that Gokuhara isn’t anywhere to be found,” Saihara says. “Though I guess he could be searching for bugs again, or something.”

See, back to business as usual. No weird cryptic shit and then sweet smiles. I’m back on solid ground. “Who knows! Maybe somebody murdered him to death and stashed the body in the boiler room.”

He shakes his head, thoughtful. “I don’t think so.” Anyone else would have started yelling at me, at that line, but not Saihara. “U-um. But we haven’t checked all over... We should talk to the others.”

“Mmmmm, veto that, sir.”

He gives me a troubled look. “Just to ask where Gokuhara is.”

I stick out my tongue. “Come on, you’re a detective, we can handle this eensy teensy widdle missing person case on our own!”

“Or maybe we should ask Akamatsu to help us find him,” Saihara murmurs, making my blood spike. Okay, maybe we’re not on super solid ground again.

I spit, grinning. “Psh, why? She’ll just talk about how the windows are barred off, or something.”

“Well, if there are more of us, maybe we’ll find him faster.”

“How so? And you’ll tell her all about my super secret Bugvac?”

Saihara makes an aborted expression, before slipping into apathy.

Oh. Hm. I fish a little, dread swimming in my gut. “Did my friend Saihara already tell Piano Freak about my Bugvac?”

“No,” he says, but the tone is off. Ding-ding-ding, we’ve got a major LIAR here, folks.

Wow. Fucking asshole, haha.

“N-no!” he says again, eyes widening. “I didn’t! I didn’t. But I did tell Akamatsu that...that I think you could help us?”

Help them? With _what?_ I shoot him an unamused look. “I don’t help people,” I point out. “Kind of goes against my evil overlord schtick I’ve got going on.”

“Help me,” he amends, voice weak. “Akamatsu doesn’t... Well, I’ve tried to breach a subject that’s been on my mind, but she’s just too--”

“--too hot to trot,” I interject, laughing. “If you need me to third wheel your date with Akamatsu, I’m afraid you’re out of luck there.”

Saihara shakes his head. He releases a long stream of air. “Well, if we’re having no luck, maybe we should take a break. We don’t need to wait for him, since the school is so big. We can regroup in the afternoon, see if Gokuhara’s stopped by the dining hall then. He’s got to eat.”

“Fine,” I say. “Fine, whatever. No, I get it. Go hang out with your Piano Girlfriend, or whatever. Whatever, you know?”

Saihara visibly bristles. “Why do you have to do this,” he bites out. “It’s not...not a competition.”

“Nah, I’m just teasing. I know you got such a crush on her, so it’s just jokes. You can’t take a joke, Saihara?”

“I-I don’t have a crush on her,” he says, face pinched.

I cock my head, pursing my lips. He definitely has a crush on Akamatsu, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Has he picked up some tips from me? Guess I could be wrong. I’m not the romance guru by any means.

I only know that it sets my whole fucking body on fire whenever he talks about someone who isn’t me.

Saihara turns away, letting out a ragged sigh. “I will see you at lunch.” Each word is broken up, carefully articulated in a single exhale.

What’s his problem? Defensive, much? Ha ha.

\- - -

“What are you doing in front of Saihara’s room?”

I freeze, before retracting myself from the lock. Momota is standing behind me, arms folded over his chest. “Oh, howdy-do!”

“Ouma,” he says, face stiff.

“Momota,” I croon, offering a sloppy smile. I discreetly slip my lock pick into my sleeve. “I’m just _so_ happy to see you.”

“What are you doing in front of Saihara’s room?”

“I’m breaking in. What does it look like I’m doing?”

He stares at me.

“It’ll be so romantic,” I say, batting my eyes. “Saihara and my illicit affair has many layers a vanilla loser like you would never understand.”

“Okay. You’re weird. Get away from his door.”

I let out a cry. “Momota, have mercy! I’m just s-s-so lonely! This is the only way I can...can get his attention. Saihara-senpai, please notice me! Wah!”

Momota pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s so easily affected, it’s almost criminally simple. “As if you need any more of his attention,” he mutters, before saying louder, “Sure. Right. Get away from his door. He’s in the dining room. Go bother him there, if you want.”

My lip wobbles. “But I’m so shy.”

“I saw you with him this morning!”

“No, you didn’t.” I shake my head, giving him a concerned glance. “I didn’t even go to the dining hall, this morning. I’m on a detox diet where I don’t eat anything ever again. It’s really cleaned out all my stomachs. You should try it!”

“Can you give me _one_ serious response?”

“I already did.” I cock my head. “Repeatedly. Sorry if you missed it, earlier.”

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?” Momota says hotly, scowling. “What is your deal, huh? Why are you like this? Like, what the fuck?”

I laugh loudly, unable to control the pitch. It’s throaty and loose. A real belly laugh. Oh man. He’s seriously pissed. Goody-goody Momota could just wrap his hands around my neck in this moment. Maybe his Maki-Roll is rubbing off on him. Maybe he could do it, right now. Grab me and squeeze until my eyes pop. Whoops! Bing-bong-bong, a body’s been discovered, kiddos!

Momota lets out a long, ragged sigh, staring at me openly. I blink. His expression has changed. I didn’t notice when it changed. I wasn’t reading him. I wasn’t paying attention. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Kokichi. His expression has changed and I don’t know what caused it. I don’t know what expression that is, either. I don’t...recognize that expression. Not on Momota Kaito.

Not on anyone.

“Just stay out of trouble,” he says tiredly. “Can you do that? For one day?”

“Um.” I cock my head, humming. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten into trouble before, Momota? Why the concern?”

He waves his head, giving that weird sigh again. It’s like an extended exhale, air funneling out of already depressed lungs. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “I’m...going to bed. Don’t break into Saihara’s room.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Who do you take me for, Momota?”

He gives me a dull look, before reaching for his door and closing it behind him.

Something has definitely crawled up his ass and died. Maybe it was one of Gokuhara’s bugs. Or Harukawa could have shoved one of Shinguuji’s antique swords up his butt when she got mad at him. That’s always a possibility, as well. The gold flake would be in his shit for weeks to come. Hm. So many options, so little care that I have for them. I don’t give a shit about Momota Kaito.

Dull coughs permeate from his room, muffled. Ugh. Maybe I have it backwards, maybe something crawled down his mouth and settled in his gut. (Not a vore reference. _Not_ a vore reference. Why am I like this.)

Whatever. I slip my lock pick out of my sleeve to start jiggling Saihara’s door handle again, feeling around for the gives. Every lock I’ve fiddled with has given to a diamond pick with no trouble and this door’s no different. These locks are super easy to crack. All the dorm locks are the exact same make, at least. I haven’t tested many other doors. I should check out Yonaga’s door, just to be proactive.

How do I know how to pick locks? Not sure. I can’t remember ever learning it. But I definitely know how to do it, so that gives some credence to my fuzzy memories. A sliver of evidence that could be explained by other means, but all the same. There’s a physical comfort in the actions, like I’ve attempted stuff like this a thousand times. I can imagine cracking a dozen pin tumblers with my friends craning their necks anxiously to keep watch out the window, offering a few off-color jokes to break the silence. Would that be cool or lame? I’m not sure. It feels cool. Just owning lock picks is illegal in Japan, so it must be cool. I must have been really fucking cool before I got stuck in Dome Hell.

Is there a camera on me, right now? Are my friends watching me? Do they know I’m here? Will I be arrested ~~if~~ when I get out of here? Am I an inspiration to juvenile miscreants everywhere? Like a global unity of young fuck-ups. If that’s the case, all my lies on the subject of my organization are actually true. Imagine that.

There we go.

Door swings open, no problem. Momota doesn’t come barreling out to tackle me like a rugby player, so we’re in the clear.

This’ll teach stupid Saihara to run away from me to spend time with his gal pal. I’ll clog his toilet and rub some old gum I’ve got in my pockets all over his bed. That’ll show him what he gets for snubbing _me_ to hang out with the world’s lamest cookie-cutter protagonist girl, Akamatsu Kaede.

But then I step inside and _this is Saihara’s room._ Blergh. I close the door behind me as casually as possible, wrist shaking, and skip forward. I let out a little whistle, feeling a familiar discomfort rise in my veins like prickling frost. Nerves. Ew. Ew. So embarrassing. Relax, moron.

And _that’s_ Saihara’s bed. Oh man. I plop down on it, trying resolutely to not look at his...extensive collection of Monokuma dolls. That he has. For some reason. (...What the fuck?)

It _smells_ like him. Is that a weird thing to notice? It doesn’t smell that good. Not necessarily super bad, either. It smells like something that’s been lived in. It smells a little like BO, but, like, Saihara’s BO. I swear it’s not a pervert thing, I just...noticed. Ugh, I’m so fucking gross, aren’t I? Jeez.

Hee hee. Slap that shit in a nasty doujin for me, fanboys and fangirls. Thanks, boo. Draw me doing all sorts of degrading, gross shit. No problem there at all, I swear. I’m flattered. After all, it’s accurate, right? Well, to an extent. I am pretty gross, after all. Just don’t make me the blubbering uke, that’s really my only request. I promise.

I fall onto my back, staring at Saihara’s ceiling in a daze. I fiddle with the chewed up gum bundled in old wrappers, knuckles scraping against the fabric of my pants. These clothes are so uncomfortable, wow. I could trash his weird Monokuma collection, I guess, if I’m going to scrap the gum concept.

What am I doing? I can leave. This could make Saihara really mad at me. (Good. Good? Good. Sure, good.) I don’t want that. (But it would be preferable. Why? Not sure. He can’t get close. I’ve got reasons, I just don’t feel like pulling them all out right now.) Oh well. I did it and I’m doing it. Out of control Kokichi!

We could reframe this situation. Readjust. No clogging the toilet. No spreading gum on the bed. No smashing his weird shrine. Who’s to say I gotta do anything, to prove my point? I could just lie here, after all.

He’ll walk into his room and his eyes’ll be drawn to me on his bed. He’ll puff up against a perceived threat, before realizing that it’s me. Little ol’ Ouma Kokichi. He’ll look at me and he won’t know what to say or do. He’ll be surprised and confused by me. He’ll spend multiple minutes entirely thinking about this problem in his room. Me.

I’m the problem.

It’ll be cute! I think so, at least. Much cuter than hearing about his plumbing problem at dinner. I’ll be right here, on the scene, the _subject_ of the scene. Maybe he’ll be so overcome with the strangeness of the situation that he’ll forget about my hissy fit earlier. More importantly, maybe he’ll be so beside himself that he’ll forget about Akamatsu entirely. That would be nice. Lesson learned. Point made.

You know. This could be a fun bonding activity. Even if he freaks out, it’ll be entertaining at the very least. My impulses take me to strange places, but at least they’re never boring. And that’s the most anyone can ask for, right? To not be boring?

I think so. I really do.

\- - -

The door to Saihara’s room creaks open very slowly.

Makes sense. I left it unlocked, after all. Must be concerning.

Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Trepidation, with a mix of determined courage and curiosity. He is a detective, after all. How mad will he be to find me here? Will he ask me how I got in, or has he already inferred my fantastical thieving abilities? What if he’s so impressed and pissed, he decides he needs to deal with me? Put a stop to my evil ways?

I’ve spent the past twenty minutes rehearsing my laugh. A controlled laugh, not whatever weird shit Momota had to hear. No wheezing. It’ll go just like I thought it would go, good or bad. I don’t care about the outcome. I’ve planned out about fifteen different potential Saihara reactions and I’ve workshopped my personal script as extensively as one can in the span of twenty minutes.

By which I mean, quite extensively. Since it’s me, and my mind runs a hundred kilometers a minute.

“Ouma?” Saihara asks, eyes wide.

“Oh, hey there,” I respond cheekily.

“What are you...” He shakes his head. He clears his throat. “Y-you, uh. Broke into my room?”

“Well, you didn’t want to wait here, but you didn’t say I _couldn’t_ , so I took the initiative.” I cock my head. “Are you mad?”

“Uh. No.”

No? I flip through my mental card catalog. “Are you...happy to see me, Saihara?”

He looks at anything except me. That really pisses me off, that he won’t look at me. His eyes are shining, jaw tight. “I? Ah, Ouma. Why?”

“I didn’t expect to be caught,” I say, rattling bullshit that doesn’t make much sense. It sounded funnier in my head, less funny when it’s tumbling out of my lips with my stupid voice. “You caught me in a very compromising position, I’m afraid. Will you capitalize?”

Saihara chokes. “Wh-what are you saying?”

“What am I saying? Well, what am I supposed to say, Mister Detective?” I purr, adjusting myself on the bedspread. “Something like, ‘Oh no, I’m so _vulnerable_ and _at your mercy_ right now’? ‘You caught me at a bad time’? How’s that work for you?”

Saihara flushes, staring at me with a blank face. Part of me thinks I’ve broken him. The rest of me knows he’s just like that. Socially inept. A flopping fish on the dock. That’s my Saihara.

“O-Ouma,” he says quietly. “This isn’t funny.”

I frown, fingering the sheet. “It’s not supposed to be funny,” I murmur. “It’s supposed to be sexy.”

Saihara stares at me.

I grin, batting my eyes. “Juuust kidding! Gosh, look at your face. You think you’re in high demand, hot stuff? You look like an anemic protagonist in a harem anime. And that’s not a compliment, just so you know. Though I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of harem animes to know that.”

Saihara looks away, eyes crawling toward the door. Of course, he’s thinking of escape.

Can I blame him? I’m _always_ thinking of escape.

Oh man. I’m going to start laughing, if no one says anything. I’m going to laugh and it won’t be a funny laugh, it’ll be one of those hysterical laughs only unhinged maniacs are capable of. It’ll be like whatever laugh I made when Momota pissed me off. Then Saihara will make that weird face Momota made and then I’ll _really_ lose it.

“You don’t need to...to act like this,” he says, exasperated.

“Like what?”

_“This!”_ He gestures, revealing nothing. “Constantly lying and...saying things you don’t mean.”

“Oh,” I say flatly. “You mean being myself.”

“N-no,” he says. “No, that’s not what I... I. Ouma, I don’t mind if you lie about some things. But not...”

“So you get to decide what I lie about?”

Saihara squeezes his eyes shut.

Ah. I’m torturing him.

I suppose my presence tends to have that effect.

“Ouma,” he says lowly.

I blink, inclining my head toward him.

“You don’t need to...run away.”

His face is oddly resolute. My eyes trace over his nose, his brow, his flat lips. Oh. Oh, he’s serious. He means that. Oh no. Ah ha. Ha ha.

I start laughing.

It’s the bad laughter. Whoops.

Saihara gives a long sigh. “Does it ever occur to you,” he says, voice tight but not angry, no it’s _strained,_ “that the truth can feel like a lie?”

I stare at him, throat dying.

He lets out a sharp laugh. “What are you afraid of, Ouma?”

What? What the hell is he talking about?

“Never mind,” he says, suddenly quiet. His eyes are glossy with unsaid thoughts. Places I can’t follow him. I have no idea what’s going on, back there in that wrinkly-as-shit brain of his. “We should check out the fourth floor. I saw Yonaga at lunch, and she said she saw Gokuhara walk past her lab, just as she was leaving to come to the dining hall.”

“You’re not mad at me?” I ask blankly.

“No.”

Mm. Sounds fake, but okay. I bounce off his bed, trying to slide this situation into something more manageable. A controlled environment. “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Come on, Captain. I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth! Or, well, the edges of the dome thing we’re currently trapped in.”

He turns his face away from me. Why can’t he just look at me? So what if I’ve embarrassed you? That means you should _definitely_ be looking at me! Noticing me! Paying some _fucking attention, that’s all I_

“Don’t, ah. Don’t break into my room again,” he says. “Please.”

Please. Another unscripted laugh weasels its way out from between my teeth. “Well, I wouldn’t have had so much time to get bored and do this if you weren’t off with Piano--”

“Don’t talk about Akamatsu,” he cuts in. “We’re not going to talk about her.”

I click my tongue. “Alrightie. No issue there, dearest Saihara.”

He shoots me a quick look, before nodding and exiting his room. I watch him click the lock and close the door, tapping my foot against the tile of the dormitory.

“Welp, let’s-a go!” I chirp, walking backwards toward the dormitory entrance. Saihara stands outside, watching me for a few seconds with illegible eyes, before stepping toward me.

\- - -

The fourth floor offers very little outside of dust and empty rooms. Pacing the hallway, even genius detective Saihara doesn’t appear to glean any new details regarding Gokuhara’s whereabouts.

Is it possible for a two-ton beast of a boy to disappear into thin air? Maybe Yumeno used her MP to teleport him out of here. Or turn him into a really tiny Gokuhara. What if he’s actually in his lab, living among the termite and ant colonies he’s keeping?

“So, um. That was a weird stunt,” Saihara says, coughing mutely into his loosely clenched fist. 

“Stunt?”

“Breaking into my room.”

I stick my tongue out at him. He offers a frown, turning his cheek away. “You gonna reprimand me again, Pops?”

“There are easier ways to bother me,” he manages, throat tight. “We could have gotten lunch together. You just had to say.”

Bother him. Well, that was partially my goal, after all. So it’s a win. He’s lucky I didn’t go with my initial plan. Then he’d be _really_ bothered. Saihara isn’t as easy as Momota, but it’s still rewarding. Yeah, it certainly is. “But then I wouldn’t be aggravating my lovely Saihara!” I croon, twisting my fingers together. “I love pissing you off so much.”

“You don’t piss me off.”

“Mmm, sounds like something a pissed off person would say.”

He sighs. “Ouma.”

“Saihara.”

“Like I. Like I said, we don’t need to, you know, need to play games. Or act like this.”

“Aw, but I like games! Saihara’s such a stick in the mud.”

“Games are how you communicate, I...get that. But I just, I-- I, ah. Ouma, I just--”

“Boring,” I interrupt him, offering a nonplussed look. “Rehashing a conversation. Super boring. I don’t want to have it; you won’t get whatever sappy, whiny answer you’re looking for, anyways. So drop it.”

He side-eyes me, expressionless. “You have a hard time making yourself vulnerable.”

I guffaw, flashing him a shit-eating grin. The nerve of this guy, seriously. He’s getting more and more uppity as the days go by. Must be Momota and Akamatsu’s hokey protagonist pep-talks. “Maybe I’ve just got a sense of self-preservation,” I say. “Or maybe there’s nothing to be vulnerable about! Maybe you read _waaay_ too much into me.”

He studies my face, pupils flicking over every slight quiver in the taut muscles of my cheeks. “Makes sense,” he settles on. I don’t know which lie he’s agreeing with. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

“Duh! I’m so logical, I could replace Kiibot at his day job as a calculator.”

“It’s a strategy,” he mumbles. He’s not even listening to me, huh. Asshole.

“I’m a _huge_ strategist. I’m Japan’s top junior-level chess master, actually! I was almost the Super High School Level Chess Master, but my organization was just so much more impressive, so.”

“But there’s longterm social effects,” he says to fucking nobody. What the hell is he talking about? He’s ignoring me. He’s completely ignoring me. I might as well not exist. Shit, that makes me angry. “Maybe that’s intended...”

“Heeey, Saihara baby, your stupid head in the clouds or what?”

He looks at me, but it doesn’t feel like he’s seeing me. His brow furrows, lips tense. “Ouma,” he says, voice foggy. “You’ve probably got lots of reasons not to trust anyone here, right?”

I blink, cocking my head. Saihara’s thinking about something, but I can’t possibly know what. This interaction is unbalanced and not in my favor. I generally try to avoid situations like this, but I don’t really have that luxury here. Can’t exactly go running away from Saihara and his long legs, not when we’re partners in Gokuhara discovery. “Maybe,” I say slowly, feeling out the mood with blind fingers. “You never really know someone, I think.”

Saihara nods emphatically, eyes snapping onto mine. “Yeah, I guess so. Makes sense. You would feel that way.”

No idea what he’s talking about.

“Aaanyways,” I say, trying to steer this ship out of choppy waters, “these shitty rooms are so poorly lit. We should pop into them, just to check. Who knows? Maybe Gokuhara’s trapped in the walls!”

Saihara actually gives an affirming hum. “That’s a good point,” he genuinely says. Like. Haha. Dude, are you serious? Because I wasn’t. He’s the size of an industrial refrigerator.

“Okay, boo! Glad to be the brains of this operation.” I swing one of the doors open, the middle room. Might as well start in the middle! It’s a little chaotic, I think. As chaotic as it gets with three options, anyways. Hey, is this that Monty Hall problem? Think I’ll find a goat in here or?

No goat. Just dusty and dark. Blech.

Saihara cranes his neck, making a noise. “I don’t see him. He really has no reason to be in any of these rooms, but where else would he go?”

“Maybe he’s looking for bugs,” I say drolly. “I’ll go knock on the walls, give out some bug chirps. You think he’ll hear me and come running?”

“It’s...worth a shot.”

I shoot him a cheeky look, just to see his expression. It doesn’t disappoint. None of Saihara’s expressions ever disappoint. Even the constipated ones. I could look at them all day. Ugh, I’m so lame. “Let me go ahead of you, my prince. Need to make sure everything is safe for His Highness.”

Gosh, his face is just the greatest, isn’t it? He’s smiling at me; he just thought what I said was funny. Haha. I’m on top of the world, perfect balancing act. Why do I do big stupid shit, when it’s always little shit that gives me victories? I really don’t understand Saihara or me.

Of course, good things are generally brief for me. Karmic retribution or some shit, I dunno. Because things go to shit very quickly, after that.

Four steps in, one two three four, and the floor falls out from under me.

\- - -

I have a fantasy. It’s stupid. Saihara and me, in a coffeeshop. One of those kitschy themed cafés, limited run. It’s for some video game neither of us plays, but the coffee is surprisingly good, even if it’s got no business being as expensive as it is. In this fantasy, we’re dressed in normal people clothes, not stupid costumes with too many straps and not enough pockets.

“Kokichi,” Saihara says, settling his hat on the table. “I can’t pronounce half the things on this menu.”

He calls me Kokichi, here, and his hat is off because it’s rude to wear a hat indoors. He calls me Kokichi. He calls me Kokichi. “Neither can I,” I say, shrugging. “I might just point at something.”

“Do you have any plans with your friends, tonight?” he asks, changing the topic while his eyes scan the page.

“No, why?”

“Well, I just figured they’d be stopping by. You guys haven’t had a ‘tea time’ in a little while, and I know you’ve wanted to have one.”

“Ah, yeah. But some people are busy making plans, since Golden Week’s coming up.”

“Right, that makes sense.” His lips quirk. “So you guys won’t be raising hell in our apartment.”

Our apartment. “Ha, I guess not,” I wheeze. Even in my imagination, I’m taken by surprise. My stomach feels tight and fluttery.

“I don’t know how we fit all of us into the room,” he says. “But hey, I’d like to see them all again sometime soon.”

“We’ll try to have ‘tea time’ right after Golden Week, then,” I say, sinking into my chair, thinking about what Saihara and my apartment would look like, if we shared an apartment. Cohabited. That sort of mushy garbage. I wonder if Saihara would have any mundane pet peeves, or if I would. We’d probably have days of the week where one of us cooks and the other washes dishes. I’d probably wash dishes super half-assed, knowing me. And Saihara would redo it, but he wouldn’t complain, because I would make up for it in other ways.

How? I have no idea. I’m not exactly bursting at the seams with redeeming qualities.

But my friends love me. And Saihara loves me. I have a family. It’s a...family. That’s what we are. Family. Because I love them, too. I love them all so much. I really do. They’re the only people I feel like I can be real around. I feel safe. Sitting here with Saihara, watching him fiddle with his cap on the table, I feel encompassed in a blanket of security.

We’re...going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.

Saihara notices my staring and flashes a shy smile, eyes crinkling. Overpriced coffee is the biggest problem in my life at the moment and I feel totally content.

We’re really going to be okay.

\- - -

I’m dead.

When I stepped on that floorboard, I went tumbling to the floor. Smack! Whacked the crown of my head off of the edge of the other floorboard. And my lower half slipped under the floor. Bam!

So, here’s the thing. There was a nail or something underneath the floorboard. A fifteen centimeters long nail.

And when I fell under the floor, it scrapped all the way up my inner thigh, until it lodged itself about, oh, five centimeters away from my testicles.

That’s how I woke up. With a fifteen centimeter nail partially imbedded in my hip. Bleeding out from my leg, head pounding, vision swimming.

Of course, I passed out again immediately. Like any decent person would.

\- - -

We’re picking out drapes for the apartment. Spring drapes. Cleaning this shithole takes work, but it’s more than worth the flush Saihara’s skin earns from the exertion. When he cleans, he wears a bandana on his head, like an old housewife. I can’t wait to get home and stare at him some more. Is that lame? Who cares.

“Yellow?” he says, cocking his head.

“Yellow,” I confirm.

“That one’s a bit...loud.”

A little laugh escapes me. It sounds ugly, but Saihara’s lips quirk into a smile. “I like loud!”

“Other people will notice them.”

“And they’ll smile, knowing there’s at least _someone_ on this street who has some character.” I crane my neck to look over my shoulder at him. “Think of how many days drapes like these will make! Think of how many car accidents they’ll cause, from the staring! I can see it, now.”

“Ah--”

“Non-lethal crashes,” I qualify. “Insurance-covered collisions.”

Saihara shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“What’s that? Hey, what’s that look for, Saihara?”

“I’m just glad,” he says. His arm slips around my arm, hugging me against his side. How boyfriend-esque. This is like something out of a teen shoujo manga. But better, because it’s Saihara, my socially awkward gay love. He lets out a small laugh. “You’re funny, Kokichi.”

“Hurk,” I intelligently reply.

“Quite the mystery, though, as always. Yellow drapes. I can’t say they’re ugly, but...”

“ _But..._ what, exactly, Shuuichi?” I flash him a hurt look. “Do you think m-my home aesthetic is ugly?” My eyes prickle with crocodile tears and I blink to hold them back.

“Not ugly," he says, unaffected. “I think they’re very _you.”_

“Me,” I echo, eyes drying. I arch a brow. “Who’s to say you _really_ know me, Shuuichi? The true me? I could be a criminal overlord!”

He shakes his head, smiling. It’s such a warm smile. Wow. His eyes are so bright. He looks like an east Asian angel in a home décor store. It’s really a beautiful sight, even with the anxious sales assistant prowling behind him. “Whoever you are, I know I love you,” he says.

Ack. Ack. So fucking lame. Ew, haha, this is so cringey. wwww Wow, we suck so much!

“Oh, I can’t have Shuuichi figure out my true identity,” I say. I don’t croak like a bullfrog at all. “I’d have to ship him off to Siberia, because I love him too much to kill him. That would make me sooo sad.”

“Maybe you want someone to figure you out,” Saihara says, painfully casual. “Maybe you’re hurt, that no one’s ever bothered to try hard enough.”

“The fuck?” I smack my face, groaning. “This is the worst dream dialogue I’ve imagined with you _yet.”_

He arches an eyebrow. “Whose fault is that?”

\- - -

“Leave it to me, Saihara! I am trained in elementary first aid. The professor thought it would be a useful skill to develop!”

“Thanks so much. I’ll be right back--”

“Saiharaaaaa,” I groan, trying to roll onto my side. I feel like I’m digging my way out of my own grave, rising like some half-sentient zombie. Layers and layers of dirt to climb out of. A metal hand prevents me from fully rising to the surface.

“Ouma,” Mister Detective says, voice fuzzy. “You’re awake. That’s great.”

“Ouma,” and there’s K1-B0, crystal clear, “you must tell me how many fingers I am holding. You may have a concussion! I need to assess you.”

I squint up at him. It’s hard to see through all the dirt. I am dead, after all. So much dirt. He’s holding up three fingers, but they’re static-y and shivering. “Three,” I spit. “Duh.”

K1-B0 looks up at Saihara, a wavering image by the doorway. Saihara shrugs back at him.

“Am I dead? I fell through the floor to hell, and now Kiibot’s cradling me so I guess I’ve put up permanent resi-- res-- resid-- oh fuck, it’s my home. I’m in hell, aren’t I?”

“No,” K1-B0 says as though he’s offended for whatever stupid reason. “You’re alive, Ouma. You may have a concussion!”

“I remember getting stuck by something,” I say. The dirt’s clearing out. I can feel my lungs again. They’re aching fiercely. “Something stuck me in the dick. Am I dickless like you, now, Kiiboy?”

“No! Even when wounded, you never cease to--”

“It was a nail. Or something. Sharp, thin,” I mumble to Saihara, ignoring K1-B0’s stupid fumbling.

He nods. “Yeah, I examined it.”

Saihara examined something that was practically touching my nuts. Haha. Gay.

“If you’d been bigger,” he says mildly, “you would have been stabbed in the stomach.”

Or crotch. Yowch. I cringe. “This building _really_ isn’t up to code, huh?”

He makes a thoughtful noise. “Mm. I’ll be right back. Thanks, Kiibo.”

“W-wait--”

“He was going before you woke up,” K1-B0 says. “He needs to look at some things. He’ll be right back.”

My arm falls limply on the floor. Thud. Ouch. My wrist is super boney and that hurt. Speaking of hurt, wow. Wow, I’m in a lot of pain. “Get off of me,” I hiss. “I feel fine and you smell bad.”

“I smell like pine needles,” K1-B0 says as he stands up and steps away.

I stick out my tongue, sitting up slightly. My leg’s on fire. It’s burning up. “Nah, you smell like bolts and grease.”

“No, I do not! You’re only saying that because I’m a robot. That’s robophobic. I smell like a pine needle car freshener.”

“Hey, Kiiboy. Who’s the one with the nose, here?”

He makes a clicking sound. Maybe that’s his tongue? Who knows. Does he even _have_ a tongue? I want answers, voyeurs at home. “What were you two even doing here?”

“Oh, you know, just looking for a cute make-out spot.”

“That is a lie!” K1-B0 says. Wow, fucking genius lie detector here. “Saihara said you were investigating something.”

I rub my leg, fingers flipping between the tears in the fabric. “Riiight, he would say that, wouldn’t he? Maybe he just doesn’t want anyone to know about our illicit affair.”

“Unlikely.” K1-B0 frowns. “Relationships are encouraged here, and Saihara would not lie about his relationship status.”

“Okay, okay, you caught me! Genius work, Kiibot.” I trace the long, angry lines up my leg, the pain tighter and warmer as I go up. It hurts so bad. My leg is like a furnace, sharp and biting. “Saihara would never want to be with a murderer like me, after all.”

“Are you planning a murder? We all agreed not to murder each other, Ouma. I will need to speak about this with the others!”

“It’s a joke,” I drawl. “Ha ha. See? Hee hee. Jokesy! I’m just human garbo, don’t mind me.”

“What?” He makes a face. He shakes his head. “Will you tell me why you are here? Or I will just ask Saihara, when he gets back.”

“Well, we were looking for Gokuhara,” I say, fingers twitching against my leg.

He cocks his head. “Why would Saihara consent to your cruelties?”

“Crue-- We weren’t gonna mess with him at all. We needed his super-vision, so we could check out those little, ah, bugs he saw.”

“Oh.” K1-B0 is quiet.

I let out a wince. Total amateur move, but I’m hurting in two opposite ends and it’s admittedly driving me a little crazy. Hey, isn’t Monokuma supposed to prevent us from dying in unexciting ways? Shouldn’t he be here, smashing through the wall with an ambulance? Wee-woo-wee-woo, Dr. Killgood’s here to patch you up, Emperor Ouma! Make you good as new, clear all the dirt off your corpse and pump you full of the latest embalming fluids. Dress you up nice in your convoluted anime uniform and prop you up at the dining hall table.

What the fuck am I thinking, right now? I’m seriously out of it. Blergh.

“You absolute fool,” K1-B0 huffs. “You moron! Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Ask... Ask you,” I repeat, clutching at my skull. It’s _pulsing_ , like actually undulating against my palm. Like, I can feel the _veins_ and they’re thick and squirmy like worms and

“Iruma outfitted me with fantastic vision!” he says, smiling as he sets his hands on his hips.

“Cooool,” I drawl, pressing my other fist into my super bloody leg.

“I can see nanoparticles,” he says, holding up a finger. Or maybe it’s two. Haha. “I could definitely see these ‘bugs’ of Gokuhara’s! You should have asked me.”

“Well, I will _now.”_ I bite back a groan, taking my hand away from my leg.

Mistake. Big mistake. The pressure helped or something, apparently, because now it’s like a dam that’s broken open, spewing concrete and dirty water all over. Except that flood is pain and “all over” is my body. Oh shit. Oh shit. Ha. Oh, man. Woah. Take a few breaths and don’t make a mess, okay? Don’t make an ass of yourself. Yikes, how pathetic can you get? 

I heave forward, palm slapping wetly against the floor. Wetly? Blood or sweat, probably. Wow, haha, I’m _super_ sweaty, right now. When did that happen? I feel like I’m gonna hurl. Blergh. Haha. Haha. And there’s the camera, looming above me, with wide eyes. The better to see you with, my dear.

I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

“Ouma!” He grabs my biceps, bracing me against him. “You shouldn’t be standing up! We need to get you medical attention. You have two open wounds, and they could become infected.”

“Oh, Kiibo,” I croon, voice catching against the ridges of my throat. Holy shit, let go of me. Let go of me. Let go of me. Let

“Ouma...?”

“Get a good angle of my face,” I say. “Make sure I look _suuuper_ bloody and beat up. There’s got to be loads of girls and guys who are into that, right?”

“What?” K1-B0 says. He shakes his head, his stupid synthetic hair swaying. You think it’s a polyester blend?

“Ooh, maybe someone’ll make a doujin about this little moment we’re having.”

_“What?”_

The door creaks open, timing appropriate, and there’s shining, anemic Prince Charming. Saihara Shuuichi. World’s prettiest limp noodle of a boy.

“Saihara!” K1-B0 announces, as though any of the three of us somehow missed that Saihara has, in fact, yes, returned. Maybe it’s for the audience’s benefit. Who knows. Who can say, really. Shit. Whatever.

He adjusts his hat on his head, clearing his throat. He looks sweaty. Ew. Maybe he got chased? He isn’t breathing hard. He isn’t flushed. He’s pale. Really pale. Pale, even by his standards.

“Hi,” he says. Um...hi? Yeah? Okay.

“Ouma says you were looking for Gokuhara, in order to identify his ‘bugs’!” K1-B0 continues, voice so loud. Why does he always talk so loud? Couldn’t that professor of his have programmed in some volume control? “I am happy to inform you, Iruma outfitted me with enhanced vision! I can see nanoparticles. I can see these ‘bugs’ for you!”

Saihara stares at us. “Oh,” he says, after a moment. “Um. That’s... Okay. Thanks? Kiibo.”

K1-B0 nods his head emphatically. “You’re welcome, Saihara!”

“Ah. A-anyways. We should help Ouma.”

“Yes! He has been a very poor patient. He won’t stop moving around, and he won’t let me touch him. He tried to stand up, but I kept him on the floor!”

I don’t remember moving _that_ much. And who said I didn’t _let_ him touch me? I don’t remember trying to stand up. What kind of moron move would that be? K1-B0’s full of shit.

“That’s fine.” Saihara slots his hands into his pockets. “We need to clean him up.”

“I understand! We should disinfect his open lacerations.”

“Can you go get medical supplies?” he says, voice firm. He’s looking K1-B0 straight in the eye. Well, reticle. They just look like eyes. “I can take Ouma downstairs. We can fix him up in my room. I’ll meet you in the dormitory.”

“That’s rather far, Saihara!” K1-B0 protests, because of course he does. “I would recommend that we find another location to treat Ouma.”

“My room is private, and it has a bed. We’ll do it in my room. We’ll meet you, Kiibo.”

He takes a long look at Saihara, who returns the gaze with lifted chin. The assertiveness would really get my heart fluttering if I weren’t two steps away from puking and I had an inkling of a concept of what the fuck is happening.

“Okay, Saihara.” He relents, lowering his head. His shoulders tense up. “I will wait outside the dormitory building, once I had procured the first aid kit from the student store!”

“Great. Thanks, Kiibo.”

“You’re welcome!” He strides toward the door, before hesitating. Saihara doesn’t look back at him. And, eventually, twenty hours later, he finally leaves us.

Alone.

“How are you feeling?” Saihara asks me.

“Shitty,” I answer him.

“The floorboard you stepped on was cut,” he says.

“Uh...” I blink, to prevent a grimace. Saihara isn’t the doting type, I guess. Not that I was expecting any doting, of course.

He walks past me and crouches, lifting on the wood. “See.” He offers it for my inspection, lofted in his thin hand. “The split is clean; it wasn’t an old board cracking, or anything. Someone cut it.”

“I...see that.” Huh.

“ And it wasn’t a nail; it was a knife. The knife you fell into is situated right beneath the cut floorboard. It’s about fifteen to twenty centimeters in length. It’s affixed to the lower floorboard with rope, angling it toward the upper body as one falls on it.”

“Um. O...kay.”

“So I had to wonder, why would someone...” Saihara blinks, before his eyes sharpen. He’s silent. 

“Why would someone,” I prompt, grimacing as I push more matted hair out of my very flattering head wound.

“Someone did this,” he says. He isn’t looking at me. Mm.

“Um... Yeah? You said. It’s clearly sawed off.”

“Someone...did this,” he repeats.

“Um. Uh huh. I’m afraid I don’t follow--”

“If you’d fallen differently, you would have died.”

“Wh-wha--”

“I think someone was planning a murder.”

...

Ha. Oh. Okay, then.

...

Yeah, I mean. I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I mean. I mean, I was the one saying all along. It’s so easy for someone to be up to no good. Fragile peace and all that.

...

“When Kiibo first stopped by, I ducked out to check the other rooms,” Saihara continues, his words ramming straight ahead with no mercy. “The other rooms have the exact same floorboard position cut in the same fashion. I stepped on each of them.”

“Floorboards,” I stammer weakly, like the stupid fucking animal I am.

“Three floorboards, three knives under each floorboard.”

“O-oh.” Oh. Uh, okay. What the fuck?

“Multiple people have suggested meetings in these rooms,” Saihara keeps going, just keeps right on going. Full steam ahead, choo choo. “Of note: Shinguuji, Shirogane, and Yonaga. Yumeno was also amenable to it, as was Chabashira. Yonaga and Yumeno had been spending more time here, since this is located next to Yonaga’s lab. That’s the initial reason that I assumed they suggested having nightly debriefings in any of these rooms. However, there are other possibilities. Shinguuji suggested holding a séance for information of the outside world in one of these rooms, as well.”

“F-floorboards...”

“And Shirogane suggested attempting to remodel some of the rooms, for recreation. So there are three people of note who have been in these rooms. Gokuhara is also a potential suspect, considering Yonaga has claimed to have seen him up here regularly. We can’t eliminate others who frequently wander the floors either, such as Toujou or Hoshi.”

I feel faint. Is it the blood loss? Is it how fast Saihara is talking, detached and automatic like he’s a fucking robot? I thought K1-B0 had that covered, my guy.

Wow, I’m just so funny. Cracking jokes when I don’t know what else to say.

Stellar personality. A real winner.

“Welp,” I manage, hoping I don’t sound as woozy as I feel. “At least we know? So we can just, you know, warn everyone else.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Eh?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure telling people is a good idea.”

“And have other people get stabbed in the dick when they walk in here? Yonaga could easily get messed up, since her lab is up here. Are you crazy?”

“We can talk about the floorboard in this room,” he says. “But I don’t think we should talk about murder.”

“Why else would someone set this up? Saihara, you’re acting really weird. You literally just told me it seemed like a murder plan. Am I following you?”

“It isn’t safe to tell people the full details.”

I won’t lie. I’m becoming frustrating. He’s in one of his nonsense moods, where he spews weird bullshit that I can’t understand. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“I...” He’s choked up, throat tight. He closes his eyes, lips lying flat.

I rub my leg, cringing against the abrasive flaps of fabric rustling my skin. He can’t see me, so it’s fine. I can cringe all I want. The camera boy is gone. If there are other cameras, well. I can cringe once, can’t I? I got that right, don’t I?

“Saihara,” I manage from between grit teeth, sounding as natural as I can, considering the circumstances.

“I’m working to it,” he says.

“Okay. No problem.” I muscle myself into a proper sitting position. As proper of a sitting position as I can, considering my muscles won’t stop fluttering and contracting from my knee to my grundle. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere, after all.”

Saihara takes a deep breath. “I think there’s a mastermind behind our captivity.”

I don’t twitch. Mostly because I’m too woozy to really move, but also because he just said that.

“Th-that’s my theory,” he says, voice shaky and nervous again. “There’s a mastermind, among the students. Someone who’s forced us all here, for his or her amusement. That’s what I’m afraid of. So...I don’t trust. I don’t really trust people at all, Ouma. And it’s scary. It hurts. That’s why I... I just.” He takes another breath, raising his arms half-heartedly and dropping them against his sides. “I’m telling you. I told you.”

“For not trusting people, you chose a weird person to tell this to,” I mumble.

“Not really.” His lips twitch. “Anyone else I would tell would freak out at me. Ah, Akamatsu, Momota, Kiibo... But you get it, right? That this place isn’t... It isn’t right, is it?”

“No,” I agree, voice soft to my own ears. This isn’t a conversation I think we should be having out loud. The voyeurs are gonna eat this shit up, if they’re watching.

“And I wanted to tell you,” he continues. “I’ve only told you, because. I want you to know that I trust you, even if you don’t trust me. I trust you, Ouma.”

“Um.” Uh. Okay. That’s--

“You’re the only person I trust here,” he says, more firmly. He nods to himself, clenching his fists. “We’re partners.”

It sounds so childish, doesn’t it? Like something out of a shounen manga. We’ll unite our friendship energies and mana blast Monokuma out of the dome. It’s on the tip of my tongue, this idea. I almost say it. I don’t, though. I don’t say anything.

“I’m scared,” he admits. “Really scared. It could be anyone.”

“It could be me,” I point out.

“It could. It could also be me.”

It wouldn’t be you, Saihara. It couldn’t ever be you. But I bite my tongue, because he’s right. Even if he’s also wrong, he’s right.

“Don’t say dumb stuff,” I mumble.

He gives me a watery smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

I look away.

“Ouma? Ouma, can you look at me?”

Nope! I want to say. Unfortunately, my eyes are magnetically repelled by your face, Saihara. But instead, I’m looking back at him before I can think better of it. He’s still wearing that fake smile, wet and strained. It looks bad.

“I’m fine,” he says. “We’re gonna be fine. We’ll figure this out.”

“You don’t know that,” I snap. “You’re lying to me. None of this is fine. I almost got my dick cut off.”

“I care about you,” is all he offers as a response.

It isn’t even worth responding.

“There’s a key inside the vacuum,” he says. “Remember? W-we’ve got options, as long as we’re willing to imagine possibilities. We'll make our own way out of here.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Ouma...”

He reaches up with trembling fingers, gripping the brim of his hat. Then it’s sliding down. Down. Down. Lower. His hair displaces, popping up where the hat leaves, a long strand sticking out at the top of his head like a particularly unruly, malicious cowlick. My mouth is terribly dry. The gesture isn’t lost on me. Saihara stares at his hat, clutched in two hands, pressed so tightly against his collarbones like it’s being applied to a gunshot wound.

“Hat hair,” I croak.

“Y-yeah...”

I laugh, but it comes out more like air hissing out of a rapidly deflating bike tire. “I trust you too,” slips out of my mouth like loose spit. “I have no good reason to, but I do. Isn’t that crazy? I think I’m a fucking idiot.”

“It’s going to be okay,” he weakly offers. That fragile platitude. I want to smack it out of his mouth like I want to smack his hat from his hands. No, I don’t. I don’t want to do that. I’m not angry. I’m not really sure what I’m feeling. Scared? Confused? Numb? It’s hard to say. I’m not very...good at identifying those sorts of things.

I think about us picking out spring drapes and flinch.

“Come on,” he says. “We should try to get you downstairs.”

“Um. Yeah.” I watch him crouch down to loop my arm over his shoulders. “I thought I wasn’t allowed in your room, anymore.”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you breaking in. I’m inviting you in, this time.”

“Inviting me,” I echo. That’s a weird way of putting it, isn’t it? I watch his hat bob in his other hand as we stand up on trembling fawn legs. “Isn’t that how vampires get into people’s houses? Like, you have to invite them in.”

Saihara shrugs, and I can feel the motion through my whole body, like a wave. “I think so? You’ll have to ask Shinguuji about that; he’s the occult expert. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Not sure,” I admit. I’m not sure.

“You’re not a vampire,” Saihara says, “so I don’t need to worry about that. And even if you were the Super High School Level Vampire, I’d still invite you in.”

“That’s a mistake,” I murmur. “I’d leech off of you. Suck all the blood out of your body.”

“That’s my mistake to make,” he says, guiding me through the doorway. I feel queazy. Please don’t let me throw up on Saihara. Mort-i-fying. “And I don’t think of it as a mistake to trust you, anyways.”

“That’s what everyone says before making a mistake.”

“Sure. There are always risks involved.” I look at his bobbing hair, the fluttering cowlick. “But there are benefits, too.”

“Uh oh, Saihara’s turning into the Ultimate Gambler.”

“I guess I am.” He stares straight ahead, a small smile on his face.

“Saihara,” I say.

“Hm?”

The first set of stairs. I press my weight onto him, letting him guide me down the first step. Then the second. The third. No issues. Saihara holds me up. He doesn’t drop me. He keeps me steady. “I, uh. Don’t let this out to the public, but. You know, I just. Heh. Hey, we got so many steps to get through, don’t we?”

“Yes,” he says, nonplussed. “We’ll get there.”

“I like you.”

Saihara doesn’t say anything. He just nods his head, concentrated on getting me down the stairs. As if I didn’t just say the most stupid, idiotic, dumb thing of my life. It’s like it was some little thing, to him, something that isn’t worth responding to, like it means nothing for

“I’m really glad,” he says softly. “I like you too, Ouma.”

...

That's all, huh? No...outlandish declarations of loyalty or car chases or fake identities. Just Saihara holding half my weight as we limp down the staircase, grip steady and warm, offering easy words. Words I'm not sure how to absorb or respond to. I suppose I'll have to tackle that later, when my leg doesn't feel like a hunk of ripped meat and my dubious concussion clears up. But I will have to tackle it, won't I? This involves more than me. A lot of this involves more than me, actually. A lot of this involves  _us._

We’ll have to face K1-B0 soon, and after that we’ll have a whole other issue in front of us, more concerning than camera bugs or even murder plots. But we’ll be facing it together, I realize. We really are partners, jokes aside. Saihara trusts me, and I...trust him.

It leaves a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s fragile, brittle, something that can easily be destroyed.

It isn’t a bad feeling at all.

 

  


End file.
